Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners
by AlfheimWanderer
Summary: What if magic was more prevalent in the world of Code Geass than met the eye? And what if the Geass Wars were just a cover for something greater? For do witches and warlocks with mysterious pasts not exist in this world, wielding powers beyond human? AU
1. Witch on a Holy Night

**Eternal Geass Moon : The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of sorcerers known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Near Kururugi Shrine, 2010 ATB**

Witch. A word that has alternately inspired deep respect or struck terror into the hearts of men, denoting a powerful practitioner of magic, linked intimately with the history of the world – for in the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to enchanters and enchantresses, power nearly on par with the gods themselves. So it is said, at least, in ancient myths of vanished utopia, speaking of a time when the earth brought forth its bounty without the labors of man, and humanity lived carefree—a time when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone.

'_But that was a very long time ago, when the world was one…'_ thought a certain green-haired immortal, face neutral as she observed an exiled princeling and a prime minister's son at play, even as the skies of Japan grew dark as the silhouettes of thousands of VTOLs blotted out the sun, some bombarding the land from above, others swooping low to deploying swarms of Knightmares Frames to suppress resistance on the ground. _'Alas, that time came to an end quickly, just as this reprieve…'_

"Well, it looks like it's time to move on, then," the Grey Witch murmured, her expression impassive as she looked up at the force mustered by the Britannians, considering her options. Fight? Difficult at best, considering that while she was a rather formidable immortal magician, she did not have the power to take on the entire Britannian army singlehandedly. "I don't want the Britannians to find me, after all…especially since V.V. took the trouble to send an army here to look for me."

'_Two Magicians remain in the world where once were five…and one of them is an overly ambitious upstart who wants to get his grubby little hands on my Code, after taking his master's…' _C. to herself as her hands clutched at the fastenings of the heavy woolen half-cape that she wore over her simple floor length black dress. _'It is really too bad that Lizleihi is no longer among the living, replaced by…that brother of Charles.'_

The immortal shook her head, a small frown emerging at that line of thought, remembering how the insolent little boy who called himself V.V. had become Lizleihi's assistant, gaining a piece of her crest's magic and eventually the whole. When the wielder of the Third Magic had finally tired of her existence and chosen a successor, she had given her power to her young assistant, which V.V. had accepted, allowing Lizleihi to be freed from her fate at last.

'_After his mother died in the Emblem of Blood Incident, he treated Lizleihi almost as a surrogate mother acting kindly—'_

—until he had gotten his hands on her Code, that was.

'_Still, I would never have expected him to turn against the world after that, or to become quite as treacherous and corrupt as he did. It was only later when I realized that the boy simply saw the world as a means to an end, having grown corrupt after a taste of the power of the ancient magics…'_

For the Grey Witch remembered all too well what she had seen through Marianne vi Britannia's eyes on that fateful day a year ago, when a psychotically laughing V.V. had gunned down the Empress Consort, smiling triumphantly as he stood over her bloody body.

'_If I had been physically present, I would have stopped him, but—' _

C.C. hadn't, not having expected the treachery of V.V., and so had been away at the time, tending to negotiations with a certain architect/puppetmaker in Japan concerning a project to recreate the original human template. That day, the Witch had collapsed to her knees as the transferred images and feelings of pain flashed through her mind, along with a warning from Marianne not to return to Pendragon, as the black haired woman expired from her wounds.

'_It makes me uneasy to see the miracle of materialization of the soul in the hands of that boy, as well as some fragments of time manipulation we salvaged from the Fourth…as he will no doubt use these abilities to his advantage in the coming power struggle…a struggle in which I will have to use Japan as a base.'_

Knowing that, and that V.V. would almost certainly come to hunt her down in order to complete his "collection", C.C. had asked the master of the Second Magic for assistance, as his power over parallel worlds would have undoubtedly proven useful, but—

'_Zelretch was always difficult to deal with at the best of times…and that was_ before_ we started rubbing off on each other,' _C.C. recalled with a wry smile, as the image of the grizzled Wizard Marshal came to her mind, looking very much like a dignified and gruff old man—and nothing like the prankster/practical joker Zelretch often was. _'Of the three of us who survived the Cataclysm, he always did wear his immortality best, finding amusement in the little things…but then, he's already seen the other possible worlds, thanks to Kaleidoscope, and will not interfere anymore unless absolute necessary…'_

For that reason, the master of the Second Magic had decided to open a strange café as a refuge from the rest of the world…a shop with two entrances, each of which opened into thousands of different parallel worlds, allowing for otherwise impossible encounters.

'_The interdimensional café_ Ahnenerbe_…called the place of impossible meetings,' _the immortal mused, as the Grey Witch proceeded quickly but quietly towards a hidden safehouse, the sound of her footsteps drowned out by the distant thunder of explosions and the screams of jet engines. _'It may be prudent to pay Zelretch a visit before I go into hiding, if just to warn him of the war that will soon be upon us. At the very least, I will get some decent pizza out of my efforts, as the Wizard Marshal always has his familiars make me some any time I come to visit. Quite thoughtful of the man, as pizza is one of the few things that reminds me of our lost home…'_

The green-haired woman shivered, remembering the final moments of that war-torn land, her gloved hands reaching into the pockets of her skirts, clutching a heavy pistol made out of some unknown metal – the conceptual weapon Black Barrel, forged as a weapon against immortals and others with unnatural lifespans—the very same that had brought down the user of the Fifth Magic in the great war of long ago.

Immortality, after all, did not mean invincibility or freedom from pain, as the bitter years had taught her—for though C.C. would rise every time she was killed, once she was killed the first time, her enemies could simply kill her repeatedly to prevent her from becoming a threat.

'_Or restrain me in a situation where I am unable to fully revive without dying again and again, which is worse…and incredibly painful.'_

It had happened to her once, during the great war of her memory, with a traitorous faction of the Council of Five Immortals "killing" her and sealing her away to prevent her from intervening in the events to come. This action had been the beginning of a civil war between those loyal to the Grey Witch and those opposed, each warring with one another over the power of the First Magic.

Considering the nature of humanity, a species that could be fractious and self-serving even in times of plenty, it should have been expected, but it hadn't, and eventually that empire had fallen, destroyed, along with the continent it had spanned vanishing into the depths of the sea, with almost all traces of it ground away by the march of time, with what tattered remnants of humanity forced to rebuild from the very beginning, now that the First Magic was lost to them.

'_How strange that the miracle called "Denial of Nothingness" should cause all to return to nothingness in the end, as the power of creation is also that of the apocalypse…'_

Only three had survived that war, and now, with the Second anchoring himself to a place between worlds, and the Third having made the unwise decision to pass on her Code, the Grey Witch found herself alone, as she had been in the beginning, a solitary figure isolated from the flow of time, hunted by humanity at large.

'_But that is what it means to be a Witch…to be a Lady of Eternity, as the curse of this lineage is to live eternally young until I either pass my power to a successor – or have a child, who will inherit my abilities when she comes of age, while I fade into oblivion. And I do not wish to make anyone else suffer my fate, to become a girl left behind by time…'_

A girl burdened with the knowledge of forgotten years, techniques, cultures…knowledge that in many cases translated directly to power (no surprise, as the words that correspond to "witch" in most languages originally stem from the word meaning 'to know'). For that reason, the Witch had never loved, nor considered it—especially as the conclusion of any such love could only end in tragedy, for that was a Witch's fate. Nor did she really trust many people, or even like many people, choosing to maintain a distance in order to survive, having only developed a relationship with Lizleihi and Zelretch due to necessity, though after the first few years, they had become friends of a sort—the only ones she had in all the world.

'_A world that may not be long in existence, if V.V. gets his way…while I acknowledge that memories are powerful things, and that as long as someone remembers us, we never truly die—I do not want to live in a world ruled only by memory.'_

Still, for now, all the Witch could do was keep moving and head for shelter, ready to defend herself against attack if need be, hoping to ride out the storm and stay under the radar until she was ready to make her move, wishing she had paid more attention to one of her old dreams.

'_After I meet Zelretch, I will need to find that architect and consult with her, as a terrible premonition can bring forth a terrible reality…'_

For an instant, the air seemed to waver over the form of C.C., obscuring her from sight for brief moments, till the winds stilled, and with a flash of crimson light, the Geass Witch vanished.

_

* * *

_

**Café Ahnenerbe**

As the home and workshop of a sorcerer, Café Ahnenerbe was an unexpectedly welcome place, without a smothering blanket of wards of concealment and security wrapped around its main entrances. But then, when the many storefronts that could be seen by those in need of a refuge from the world were merely illusions, gateways to a place between parallel worlds controlled by the store proprietor's thoughts, one could well understand exactly why excessive precautions were not needed.

Even more strange, Café Ahnenerbe was the kind of place one walked by every day without really noticing, without the ostentatious signage, plate glass windows, and colorful menu of specials announcing its presence to the world, no posters of upcoming events or band performances, nothing that made it stand out. Well, save for the fact that its two storied timber-framed building with a base of brick was reminiscent of a shop in one of those rustic "European" villages one might find dotted and there, with warm yellow light spilling out from the café's interior through the windows—and the fact that it had two separate entrances on opposite sides of the store.

_Clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop_. Swish - Pause. _Clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop_.

It was outside this place that a green-haired shadow appeared, her pitch-black fabrics of her cape and dress rustling as she stood before one of the doors, hesitating for a moment as if uncertain of whether to use this or the other, then shook her head and made up her mind, setting foot through one of them, footsteps echoing in her wake.

_Ring-a-ling!_

The soft tinkling of bells sounded as the Grey Witch made her entrance, glancing about at the interior, to find it much as she expected, a quiet place where those who wished could enter and enjoy a rest from the world in a place outside of time, with the shop decorated with antiques from a man's long travels_, _as if towelcome those lonely, or lost, or just weary, providing a place to be alone, but not entirely bereft of human company, a place to contemplate life, away from its manifold rigors.

'_How appropriate for old Zel…' _the Witch thought to herself, smiling ever so slightly as her curious amber eyes fell upon the figures of two young girls bustling to and fro in the shop, nodding mutely as they jotted down the orders of customers, their faces mirror images of one another, the skirts and tassels of their ornate gothic lolita dresses (not to mention the oversized bows in their hair) flouncing up and down with each step they took—even as now and again, she caught them eying a display of the shop's famous strawberry pie.

'_Almost twins, though there are some differences, as one wears black and the other white, with the one in black possessing hair of sky blue, while the other has hair of white…somewhat like Mao.'_

C.C. paused for a moment at the thought of that particular boy, whose mind and body had been twisted from incompatibility with the piece of the Thaumaturgical Crest she had bestowed onto him, remembering the terrible things that he had done – and how she had been forced to kill him in the end, ending his life with a shot from the Black Barrel, the weapon that had killed so many in its time.

_Swish! Clip-clip-clip!_

Hearing the rustle of fabric and approaching footsteps, C.C. looked up to see, the young blue-haired girl in black approaching her before reaching out to tug on the Grey Witch's sleeves, pointing silently at a private booth in the corner.

The immortal merely nodded, allowing herself to be pulled along by the cute mute, even while her acute magical senses detected a strange flow of mana passing from somewhere in the building to the girl currently tugging on the sleeve of her dress.

'_I recognize this familiar, though not the other…' _C.C. mused, one of her long, slender eyebrows arching upwards. _'Zelretch was never one to give out pieces of his Crest, so a familiar is more likely—though I've never heard of a human used for that purpose. Usually it's a bird of some sort—though a cat is fine too. Then again, this is the master of the Second Magic, so I suppose he could have found them in another world…'_

Upon arriving at the booth, the immortal thanked the girl for showing her the way, and then sat down, smoothing out her skirts, even as the black-clad girl departed, and the white-clad one approached, setting a piping hot pan pizza and a bottle of white wine before the immortal, both of which C.C. accepted gratefully.

"Thank you," the Grey Witch spoke, watching in amusement as the white-clad girl responded with a small but elegant curtsey before moving back to handle the other customers. _'And now, while Zelretch hasn't shown his face yet, I might as well enjoy some of this heavenly pizza…and calm my nerves with wine…'_

Warm, moist, chewy, every bite filled with rich flavors. Creamy cheeses, an almost sharp taste of tomato, a hint of herbs and spices, well-seasoned pepperoni, and—

"Enjoying the free meal?" came a very familiar voice, with C.C. _almost _dropping her pizza in shock, barely managing to save the slice as a figure appeared in the seat across from her with an audible _'pop.'_ Twas, of course, a grizzled man in black and silver tunic and trousers, a cloak draped over his shoulders, the store's seldom seen proprietor, who smiled gruffly, with a barest hint of a twinkle in his eye as he laid eyes upon the immortal – Zelretch, Wizard Marshal, master of the Second Magic – a lover of pranks, practical jokes, and occasionally prone to hamminess.

'_And someone I have been tempted to blast into oblivion a few times over the last millennia…'_

Oh, indeed, it was…tempting to just materialize a sword or something of the sort, and simply—

She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts, knowing that such a response would be…impolite, especially as her old…friend always did pick up her tab when she came to Café Ahnenerbe, the Grey Witch swallowed the momentary impulse, instead resorting to a baleful glare, an effect that was somewhat spoiled by her finishing the slice of pizza and wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg…you haven't changed at all," C.C. spoke, noting that the man seemed to love his dramatic appearances as much as he always had. "Except perhaps, for showing better business sense than you once did…I remember well when you tried to run a flower shop."

"Heh, well, this is certainly a surprise, Cy—"

But the green-haired witch cut him off with an upraised hand, shooting the Sorcerer one of the imperious _looks _that had once been enough to silence a crowd.

"It's C.C., remember?" the Grey Witch chided dryly, though as always, the old man was…unfazed, merely turning to one of the approaching familiars and requesting his usual order – a glass of rose wine and a shepherd's pie.

"So it is. Forgive this old man, it's been a while," Zelretch replied casually, rather used to the Witch's attitudes, since really, he was one of the few friends she had. "So what brings you out here tonight?"

". . . " was the response, as she stared wordlessly at him, as though the answer should be obvious.

"Ah, yes, the invasion of Japan and V.V.'s actions," the wizard said after a moment, responding to his own question. "And you have come to ask me for my help in the struggle, correct? Or for a possible reading of how things will go, based on how they have gone in other worlds, even though Kaleidoscope is not an oracle, as you should know?"

A simple nod, as the Witch resigned herself playing the part of the supplicant—for once.

"That, and transportation to Mifune, where several prospective allies await…" C.C. mentioned with an eloquent shrug, turning back to eat her pizza before it got cold.

"The last is easily done, I suppose, since I do have a storefront there," Zelretch answered, raising one of his graying eyebrows. "However, the others…"

"I am well aware that your magic's divination abilities are not absolute, and often are reflections of truth, distorted through the lens of infinite probabilities," the Grey Witch responded gravely, her lips twisting up into a semblance of a smile. "As you have mentioned _every other time_ I've brought it up. Trust me, my memory isn't quite as bad as yours, old man."

The two were interrupted briefly by one of the two familiars arriving with the old man's drink and food order, with the master of the Second Magic pausing to wet his throat before replying.

"Hmm…an uncommonly good vintage," the man remarked idly, regarding the madder colored liquid as it gleamed in the candlelight of the booth with seeming little concern for aught else. "Though sometimes I find myself hard-pressed to remember exactly where I obtained it from—or rather which 'where.'"

"This being the point when you bring up that you deal with a multiverse's worth of issues, and so do not generally choose to act, as your prophecy is uncertain?" came the tired reply. "And you don't want to make a mess of things, remembering what happened during the last time, am I right?"

From a pocket of his coat, Zelretch withdrew a crystalline short sword, its jewel blade taking in and scattering the ambient light into many points and rays.

"Infinite possibilities, infinite acts…the future is a troublesome thing, really," the old man murmured, glancing once at the Grey Witch. "If even light itself is composed of many varied pieces, imagine the complexity of human interactions, paths and intersections, divergences. I have seen many worlds…some in which we do not exist, some in which things end badly, some in which things end well, each a twisted echo of the next. In most of them…you don't succeed."

The green-haired witch counted slowly to twenty under her breath, deliberately not looking at the almost pitying expression on the old man's face, lest she be tempted to use the First Magic and accidentally materialize an explosion or something of the sort. Obliterating the café would not change what he saw, after all, and it was anathema to her nature to eliminate a place where she was guaranteed free food in this tedious age.

"And your point is…?" C.C. asked frostily, the words falling from her lips like chips of ice. "What happened to your adventurous spirit, old friend?"

A sigh and a distant gaze.

"Vanished after Camlann and the debacle with Nimue, I'm afraid," Zelretch answered simply, turning the jewel dagger as it splintered liquid light in all directions, refracting it into shimmering points that blinked in and out of existence rapidly. "After all that we both have lost over the last millennia, I do not wish to see you pass away as well, caught in a war that you lose more often than you win."

"You're going to offer me safe refuge in another world, aren't you?" the Grey Witch inquired, already knowing the answer.

A slow, but firm nod.

"If happiness had a form, it would be something like glass," the master of the Second Magic said after a moment. "Something that one doesn't notice normally, but there nonetheless, as evidenced when one is without it. For all your age, that is something you have not yet learned, C.C., since you continue to intervene as you do…"

"It's something to do, at least, and I can pass myself off as a normal magus," C.C. replied, taking a sip of her wine. "There is happiness…sometimes. But right now…"

"You still feel that you were at fault for not seeing through Lizleihi's apprentice before it was too late, don't you?" the dimensional sorcerer asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"I do have dreams of a sort, glimpses of what is to come…and nightmares of what happened an age ago," the green-haired witch murmured softly. "So many who died in that war, so much devastation, over the power I wield, that power which caused only destruction in the end. As one who has taken too many lives, who was incapable of saving those who needed me, I must take responsibility, atoning."

"Your enemy is similar, you realize?" Zelretch said gently, trying to dissuade his old friend from her course of action—but knowing that she was as stubborn as he was, if not more. "A boy who resolved that if could not save anyone, he would at least end this current world so that there could be no more meaningless deaths."

A bark of harsh laughter.

"Which is why I must be the one to stop him," the Grey Witch responded, setting down her wineglass with a solid _thunk_. "Once again, a war has started for the power of the First Magic, and as one who could do nothing in the war where you and I lost our homes…"

"Ah," the Wizard Marshal spoke, that one word eloquently summing up the argument of the Witch Queen. "Once again, you are the cause of a war…"

"An unbearable thought…" C.C. muttered distastefully. "If I do not fight, then Lizleihi's Magic is perverted for his use, with a corrupt ritual manifesting the collective soul as a result. If I do, there is a chance that he might win the First Magic and change the world in that way. And then, there are the fragments of the Unified Language scattered about—that which people call Geass."

"I understand, but it is not my place to become involved directly…as that is my atonement in a way," Zelretch noted, lips set in a grim line, even as he raised his glass of wine. "I will, however, pull my presence from this world for a time, so that your foe will not find me and thus make your life more difficult. In any case, I will drink to your survival, and hope that we will meet again, Witch."

"Likewise, Wizard Marshal," came the smooth reply. "To separations and meetings once again, when all is said and done."

"…with you, nothing is ever truly said and done."

"Point taken."

_Clink!_

The soft sound of two wine glasses clinking together in the dim light, of desperate wishes that the Grey Witch knew in her heart could never be fulfilled.

* * *

**Osaka Settlement, Area 11 – 2017 ATB**

Amidst the frozen of night, rainwater ran down the edge of a bloodied knife, loosely clutched in the hand of a wraith as she slunk silently through the shadows, the irises of her eyes glowing with a startling iridescent blue light as she sought her objective with nearly inhuman focus, her form that of a drawn sword to any who might look upon her.

_Flash!_

With a sudden blur of movement, the wraith tossed the combat knife over her shoulder, the implement flashing as it stabbed into the point of death of a lunging guard dog that had sought to strike her from behind, ending its existence.

"..."

In utter silence, the young woman walked to the stricken beast and placed one of her booted feet upon the mastiff's face for leverage, closing her fingers over the weapon's handle and ripping it free with a savage twist, as the creature sputtered a quiet death rattle, covering up the sound of the fabric of her midnight purple blouse and floor length skirt _squishing_ ever so slightly as she moved, feeling the cold weight of the katana slung across her back.

_Clip-clip-clip!_

Her boot-clad feet stalked through the night with miniscule sounds that barely qualified as footsteps, deliberate to a fault, with each twitch, minor as it was, seemingly premeditated and planned in advance, with the end result an inexorable advance that was relentless, intense, and promised oblivion to anything in her way—as those few who had met her knew well, and those who faced her in combat knew to their everlasting regret, as it was often the last thing they saw—the chilling and unnerving sight of a harbinger of death, a beautiful grim reaper, with ominous blue eyes and black hair flowing like water.

Ever since the day she had awakened from her coma, having lost both of her parents to a Britannian air raid over Mifune (with her relatively spared because a certain Witch had thrown herself over the young girl, shielding the Satsujinki's daughter from fatal damage with a death that had proven quite difficult to regenerate from), the last Ryougi had never really been the same.

For though she still wore a sweet façade, the girl was damaged within, her cold blue eyes holding shadows of things past—for in her coma, coming near to death, she had found herself drifting, dreaming, floating through a shapeless void of shadows, clad in naught but the skin she had worn since life's beginning. How she had reached here, she did not know, could not remember, yet here she was in this primal ocean, the well of human consciousness.

A world where nothing existed, a primordial「Akasha 」 from which she had been pulled back only by whispering strands of light — borrowed life-force from a sorceress whose Magic governed creation — or rather, allowed her to deny the void.

She had awoken from that place into an alien world, where those she loved were gone, with only a green-haired witch beside her—the one who had pulled her from that darkness, who had ended up saving her—though in the process, her eyes had become connected to that place, her "death" bringing to the fore her ability to see into the heart of things, a greater nightmare than anything Britannia could bring at her—a nightmare she now visited on them.

Pause. Listen. Sniff.

The faint wind carried the musky scent of unwashed sweat wafting to her nose, two mingled odors standing out, as distinct as night and day. The soft sound of defenseless voices chattering, soldiers who had come to expect nothing out of the ordinary.

'_A pair of Britannian soldiers on sentry duty…'_

Or so she suspected, glancing towards the voices to see two human forms standing roughly at attention, with jagged lines crisscrossing their bodies, as well as that of the rifles in their hands.

These soldiers had the misfortune to be guarding the research facility where a Witch was being held—a witch that Mana Ryougi owed her life to, like it or not…and the daughter of the late boss of Mifune always repaid her debts.

'_I came home to find blood splattered on the floor, with signs that a scuffle had taken place, with scoring in the walls and with the military hauling away several bodybags in a truck—consistent with the Witch's primary weapon of sharp wires manipulated by magecraft.'_

Still, she knew that the green-haired sorceress had survived the encounter…and more, that she had been carried off in the truck, as the immortal witch's soul link to Mana remained active to this day.

Thus, after waiting for some time to negate suspicion by any watching, the assassin had followed the trail of mana on her Vespa scooter, towards a place that smelled of death and suffering, where death exploded into her vision…and vanished several times over.

Back in the present, the young girl had narrowed her eyes, concentrating as she visualized the distance between—

_There!_

A glowing line appeared in her vision—the concept of the distance between her and her unwary prey, the guards outside the facility where C.C. was being held.

_Slash._

The knife flashed down and a _boom_ rent the air, with the sentries looking up to—

"…Huh?"

Two small clinking sounds echoed as knife lightly tapped the barrel of two rifles, then several heavier, considerably louder _thunk_s as the weapons fell apart in their hands.

Hands opened and closed reflexively, as a quiet laugh sounded.

_Slash_.

Feeling something hot, the soldiers recoiled, leaving their sliced off arms behind as their eyes open in terror, taking an involunt—

_Squelch. Slice Slice Slice._

A sound of tearing flesh, as red liquid intermixed with the pooled rainwater, with the shredded pieces of two bodies strewn on the ground, as the girl in midnight purple advanced towards the—

_Rumble—BOOM!_

A roar and a flash of light deep within the facility, as the outer wall erupted outward in a madder red blossom of destruction, the shockwave knocking Ryougi on her backside as another truck came screaming through, with panicked cries from within—and the Witch on board the transport of the terrorists.

Seeing this, the lips of the wraith twitched downwards almost imperceptibly as she picked herself up off the soaked ground, eyes watching as the truck faded into the distance.

'_How…inconvenient.'_

* * *

**A/N**: And so a new story begins...though I will issue this as a warning – I will probably post a little more slowly than with my last fic, as this is a more thorough integration of Code Geass with the Nasuverse. Yes, Lelouch is getting an equivalent of Absolute Obedience, though modified to fit into the standards of the Nasuverse, meaning either Mystic Eyes of Enchantment…or Unified Language. Questions, comments, concerns? PM me if you will. And of course, do leave a review, if possible, as where would we writers be without feedback from readers?


	2. Oblivious Serenato

**Geass / Stay Night: Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Japanese Resistance Truck, En Route to Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**

While a successful raid on a Britannian Chemical Weapons facility (or so intelligence had indicated, for what else would be that well guarded…) was an above average coup for the resistance cell run by Kaname Ohgi, with everything going better than planned, dealing with the getaway had had rather poorer results, thanks to the incompetence of a certain hot-blooded member of their cell.

"Perfect!" A sarcastic hiss from the freedom fighter named Nagata, his one terribly eloquent word filled with as much vehemence as a string of curses. The man's nerves were understandably frayed as he pushed the stolen military truck as fast as he dared to go without losing control, hoping to get to a subway tunnel entrance. "It's all because Tamaki couldn't stick to Naoto's plan. And now we've got a problem!"

In the seat next to him, Kallen Kozuki just nodded, glancing worriedly at the police VTOL in the rearview mirror, wanting nothing more than to smash it out of the air using the red Knightmare aboard the truck.

'_No…not yet…' _the redheaded terrorist thought, forcing herself to remain in her seat. '_We brought along the Knightmare to stall the Britannian military if they should attack…we can't show our hand now, or they'll just use overwhelming numbers against us.'_

Granted, the half-Britannian girl had never been too good at overall battlefield strategy, with her burning spirit better suited for combat on the front lines, while another made the plans—but her brother had made sure to drum the basics into her head—so that she would have a better chance of survival, he had claimed.

'_And now Naoto's dead, with mother still as vapid and useless as ever, a slave to Britannia. And as hard as Ohgi tries to be a surrogate brother…'_

Setting her jaw, Kallen cut off that line of thought, not wanting to belittle the efforts of the man who had taken over the resistance cell, but finding it hard to contain a flicker of smoldering resentment. Yes, she appreciated what her comrades had done for her, but then, she didn't want to be protected just because she was the former leader's younger sister—all she wanted was revenge, was—

"You idiot, watch where you're going!"

Nagata's snarl snapped her out of her reverie, as the truck swerved violently across the road to avoid hitting a motorcycle and sidecar combination, towards—

"No, not that way!" Kallen cried out, but it was too late, as—

_Rumble-skid-_

—the truck smashed through a bevy of traffic cones and a wooden boom barrier, careening out of control as it skidded off the road and onto the loose gravel of an abandoned construction site, spinning-spinning—

_BOOM!_

—slamming to a halt against the steel girders of would have become the lobby of the V.O. building, throwing up a massive plume of dust, as curious spectators looked on at the scene of the accident.

Within the "poison gas container" in which the Grey Witch was contained, angry amber eyes blinked open slowly, as the shock of impact restored a measure of the sorceress' awareness, her body operating at the bare minimum level that would allow her to analyze the situation around her magically – while not at a high enough level that she would immediately suffocate to death, as, having become rather a connoisseur on methods of death over the last few millennia, she hated asphyxiating more than almost any of the others, though burning at the stake was a close second.

'_A few days ago, while searching for Blue, as well as the Asagami heiress, I was apparently followed by a group of Britannian soldiers, magus killers that have learned to identify magi via use infrared imaging, as high internal mana levels and activated magic circuits cause the body to be hotter than normal.'_

Of course, magi had countermeasures against detection, such as hypnotic suggestions for people to stay away, or being able to lower one's core temperature via biofeedback, but things were somewhat different for a Witch, since her very existence was something of magic, her entire body itself acting as a circuit, in addition to all the others she possessed in her soul.

'_And while I concede that that is useful for Thaumaturgy, and establishes my power as a Sorceress, it makes it _very_ hard to conceal my presence directly, especially when enemies operate outside the radius of my Mystic Eyes of Enchantment's control.'_

Dampening their own circuits, the team of magus killers had moved in, utilizing modern weapons—followed by Origin Bullets, conceptual weapons containing the powdered bones of the magus killers themselves (generally taken from their ribs), which forced the "Origins" of the magus killer onto the target upon impact.

'_An unpleasant and disconcerting experience, especially if the bullets impact en masse, as the many false Origins usually cause incurable wounds, destroying nerves and blood vessels irreparably—except of course, if one is an immortal bearing the Curse of Restoration, which essentially regressed the body through time to its original uninjured state.'_

Still, it was rather painful, much as C.C. had discovered to her…displeasure, after a short but vicious battle against them which had resulted in five dead magus killers, with herself "killed" as well—and her "corpse" transported to the research facility, as the Emperor had ordered done to any rogue magi.

'_Had I used the First Magic, I could have won—however, the price would have been revealing myself to be a Sorceress instead of a mere magi in case it was a trap, with more enemies watching—and I needed to keep attention away from my Satsujinki.'_

Indeed, it would be a terrible thing were Britannia were to discover the presence of a living user of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, so C.C. had deemed it safer to 'die' and take her chances at the facility, where the magus killers would not be present.

'_And more…since Mana can track me through our connection, we would finally gain a chance to strike at the heretofore_ _hidden Britannian human augmentation research facility…'_

Or such had been the plan that the Grey Witch had worked out with Mana in case of capture, though things had apparently gone awry, considering that the sorceress, though removed from the facility, was still inside the containment chamber, with her ally still some distance away.

'_Hmm…two magi nearby, and—'_

Amber eyes shot wide open as a very familiar presence registered, one carrying an inherited piece of the Thaumaturgical Crest of the Lamperouge line, a lineage of magi that had specialized in consciousness transference (transferring the senses of a person to another object, such as a tree, to gain information outside of the body—an ability not particularly suited to combat as disruption of the main body tended to result in a forced recall of the separated consciousness to the main body). More to the point, this was the figure that C.C. had apparently allied with in every one of the possible futures in which she had actually won her war (the only bit of advice that Zelretch had given).

'_One last action before I am forced into inactivity again then…'_

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**

From his vantage point on the side of the road, overlooking the crash site of the vehicle that had nearly run him down moments earlier, Lelouch Lamperouge blinked as he thought he saw a spray of light appear on top of the truck, converging into the outline of humanoid figure that he could have sworn was looking directly at him, a hand beckoning him to approach – and then vanishing, as the boy felt his head throb once, his consciousness blurring for a moment as he staggered.

"What the…?" the raven-haired prince groaned as he forcibly kept his legs from buckling, taking a few ragged breaths as he steadied himself, removing his driving goggles and squinting at the crash as the last of the dust cloud cleared.

"Oh man, this sucks," Rivalz groused behind him, with the blue-haired boy hunched over his bike, rather disgruntled at the apparent damage from their sudden stop. "Looks like the power line on the bike got cut."

"Yeah..." Lelouch muttered in acknowledgement, only half-listening to his friend. "Rivalz, come check this out."

The exile wanted a second pair of eyes on the scene, so that he could better judge what exactly was going on, as even someone as mundane as the secretary of Ashford Academy's Student Council could be useful in a situation like this. But the other boy did not come over, as he was still looking into the damage done to his precious bike, and Lelouch was about to call him again when—

"Hey! Over there!"

"Whoa! Nasty crash!"

"What happened? Some sort of accident?"

—a babble of voices started up, as rubberneckers and voyeuristic spectators began to gather around, talking amongst themselves, pointing and laughing, even snapping pictures to satisfy their morbid curiosity.

'_And none of them are going to go for help? I suppose this is what was meant by diffusion of responsibility and the bystander effect—the more people are present at the scene of an accident, the less will help. Worthless…'_

"…idiots," the raven-haired princeling grumbled, deciding to go down and see if any of those involved in the accident needed help, throwing his helmet and riding goggles into the side-car of the cycle, and running off before Rivalz could stop him.

_Huff-puff. Huff-puff._

Fortunately for Lelouch's less than stellar stamina, it didn't take very long to run down to the crash site, and from an initial glance, it didn't seem like the vehicle had taken much damage, though he couldn't see into the cab of the truck, thanks to the metal girders barring his way.

"Hey, are you alright?" he called, receiving no response.

'_Maybe they're injured…'_

Out of concern for the passengers, the boy tried to tried to move the metal beams aside—but as expected, he failed, and so cast his eyes about for a different way inside.

'_An access ladder…'_

Spotting one, the exile climbed up to the top of the truck's trailer, where an opening into the darkness could be seen.

"Can you hear me?" Lelouch called out yet again, leaning over the opening and searching for any sign of movement. "Are you okay?"

_Flash!_

A surge of azure light flared in his vision, with the raven-haired student losing his balance as a cool half-amused voice echoed in his mind.

"_So the half-magus was Marianne's son…"_ came a dry, almost sarcastic voice, though Lelouch couldn't be sure of why. _"At last, I have found—"_

_Thump! Whirrr!_

And then the connection was cut off as the truck sped backwards, with Lelouch losing his balance and plummeting through the air into the trailer of the vehicle, just barely managing to land on his feet amidst the shaking.

"Stop, I'm…" he began, but his protests died at the sight of a high-pressure containment vessel, akin to the kinds used to transport…

'…_poison gas,' _the exile realized with a chill, even as the truck began to take evasive action and a voice from above boomed for the occupants to surrender. _'I'm in a truck with terrorists…'_

* * *

**En Route to Shinjuku Ghetto**

There were a few things that Chokushi no Magan adept Mana Ryougi enjoyed in life, among them strawberry ice cream, bottled water, a good book, taking naps under a kotatsu in the living room like some sort of utterly-contented turtle, or the satisfaction of beating a worthy opponent…but having to track a terrorist vehicle through the night, while having to avoid the considerable police and military presence chasing after it, was decidedly not one of them.

'_Especially when driving through dark and abandoned subway tunnels on a motor scooter_, _of all things, even if the scooter has been _reinforced_ with magic,'_ Mana Ryougi groused in her head, noting that the bright red Vespa she rode—and the pink helmet on her head—really broke the image she wanted to project on missions. It was, after all, hard to think of a teenage girl on a motor scooter as a deadly grim reaper who could kill anything that existed. _'Though I suppose that's rather the point…'_

She had a feeling that Touko Aozaki, the woman who this vehicle had belonged to, had probably selected it as a not-so-veiled jab at the image of Mana's mother, the late boss of Mifune and user of the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception—one of the people she had come to meet after coming out of her coma, with the chainsmoker telling Mana some interesting stories about her mother, before the puppet maker had tendered her to the care of the Grey Witch.

'_Including morsels about a _Void_ personality, which does make beating mother just a little more difficult than I expected, now doesn't it?' _the girl thought wryly. Not that she would get the chance, since her mother was long dead, along with most of the other people in her old life, except for Kuramitsu Meruka, who had once helped the Ryougi syndicate to run a detective agency—and still did, to an extent. _'But then, I never expected to gain these eyes, nor for Britannia to invade and take everything away from me…'_

Indeed, as the spry little motor scooter puttered on at breakneck speeds, the normally cheerful seeming girl found her mood growing dour and grim once again, rather annoyed that things had deviated so much from the planned scenario, with terrorists choosing to raid the same building she had intended to break into—though at least they had killed most of the scientists within, and disrupted things enough for her to 'kill' the facility, one stab of her knife bringing the building down, research and all, before Mana had headed off in pursuit of the truck.

'_All I'll say is that C.C. owes me a gallon of strawberry ice cream after this—at least,_' the Satsujinki's heir sighed as she sped through the subway tunnels, twitching every time she passed over a particularly rough patch of ground. _'Though she'll probably turn around and say I owe her pizza for taking too long to retrieve her…she can be rather…difficult at times. '_

Sometimes, the last Ryougi rather thought that the Grey Witch went out of her way to needle her about little things, but then, she supposed anyone who had seen death _that_ many times had a right to gripe just a little bit—which just meant that Mana had the same right, as _she_ could see death anytime she chose to.

'_The truck is swerving, heading down into the subways…and by the sound and rumbling, a battle is occurring above…'_

Realizing the need for greater speed, Mana's fingers tapped on a seemingly innocuous carving on the handlebars of the scooter, as the Vespa shot forward under the influence of a rune.

'—_to the Shinjuku Ghetto, then.'_

And as her jet-black hair streamed out behind her, the intense expressionless mask of a cold-blooded killer settled upon the teenage girl's face once more, blue eyes blazing in the darkness as they saw every weakness, every curve, every fragility of the world around, feeling impending death closing in.

'_The army is drawing nearer…'_

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto**

In the ruined streets of Shinjuku, a place that still bore the scars of the invasion of seven years ago, the residents froze in place at the sight of dozens of Britannian VTOLs filling the sky, with hundreds of heavily armed and armored foot soldiers being lowered from them, like faceless, inhuman drones seeking out an objective at any cost.

'_What could they possibly want from us?'_ the people wondered, as terrified children clung to equally unsettled parents, remembering well the nightmares of the invasion, when a peaceful land had been torn apart by war, the Britannian army sweeping through with ruthless efficiency, killing combatant and non-combatant alike as they sought to suppress any resistance.

The Britannians had come by air, by sea, on foot, in their Knightmares, on VTOLs, on ships, utterly destroying anything that they thought _might_ stand in their way as conquerors, leaving the Japanese a broken, conquered people—so what more did they want now, and in such numbers? They already had the land, the power, the sakuradite they wanted—what next, the lives of the conquered? Had these soldiers come to carry out some ill-thought out reprisal against the citizens of the ghetto as a response to the terrorist attack—and this after Viceroy Clovis la Britannia had stated that the battle was to be a "virtuous", to "protect the well-being of one and all."

'_Not that hypocrisy and mindless murder are anything new to Britannia…'_ the populace thought, resigned in their terror as the grey-clad soldiers streamed past and around them, searching for the stolen military truck.

_Crash! Screeeech!_

A truck that had finally ground to a halt, with its front wheels stuck in a gap in the tunnels, stolen Britannian equipment ironically stopped by damage the Britannians had inflicted in the past, exacerbated by lack of maintenance in the intervening years.

In the trailer of the truck, Lelouch vi Britannia heard the muffled curse from the cab of the vehicle, and stood, thinking that finally, after his long and rather shaky ride, he would be able to climb up and out of the vehicle, having been unable to find the voice that had called to him—though he could feel a strange pulsing from within the high-pressure containment vessel. As a backup plan, he had long since pocketed the communicator that Kallen Kozuki had left behind in her haste to throw off her stolen uniform and board her Glasgow, thinking that he might be able to use it for—

_Thunk!_

But as was par for the course for the exiled prince, Lelouch was rudely interrupted from his thoughts—this time by a rather powerful blow aimed at his temple, courtesy of a certain spin kick technique that he was sure was not taught in the military, as—

"Oof—Ugh!"

—he barely managed to block the blow, but was sent sprawling to the floor anyway by the transmitted force of impact, with his with his anonymous assailant following up by slamming a powerful, callused hand into the prince's throat, the little finger of the soldier's hand digging into the weak point immediately above the collarbone, cutting off Lelouch's air supply.

"That's enough mindless murder!" the masked soldier snarled threateningly, with the man putting his full weight onto the prince's body and neck to restrain him. "Killing innocent civilians and planning to use poison gas? No more…!"

"Urk…"

The prince-in-exile had never been the most physically capable person in the world under normal circumstances, preferring rather more intellectual pursuits instead, but as many a predator had learned, in life or death situations, even the frailest animal was never perfectly harmless.

'_Am I going to die here?' _Lelouch asked himself mentally, as the black spots indicative of hypoxia began to flicker in his vision, with his body spasming. '_No…no, I can't. For the sake of my revenge against Britannia, for Nunnally's sake… I must—LIVE!'_

_CRUNCH!_

Proving the old adage that there was nothing more dangerous than a cornered animal, Lelouch slammed the heel of his palm upwards into his assailant's face with strength and speed born of desperation, the force of his blow smashing into his opponent's nose and breaking it with a sickening crunch, as the soldier reeled momentarily, his grip slackening slightly—not much, but enough for Lelouch to—

_THUNK!_

—surge forward, ramming his forehead into his opponent's face, his leg moving to crush his adversary's crotch—

_Swish!_

—only to miss, as the soldier jumped back, raising his hands to defend against further hostility, form tensed to strike at a moment's notice.

"Tch! Mindless murder was it?" the Black Prince spat with hatred as he raised himself warily to his feet, the shadow-hidden features of his face coming into view. "Then why don't you obliterate Britannia! After all…if that's really poison gas, it was made by and in Britannia, wasn't it?"

At the sound of those all-too-familiar-words and the sight of Lelouch's revealed visage, Suzaku Kururugi staggered, horrified at the thought of how close he had come to killing his old friend.

"My god…!" the soldier whispered, almost as if he'd seen a ghost, removing the helmet from his face to reveal the bruised and battered face of a prime minister's son. "Lelouch? It's me, Suzaku."

The exiled prince's eyes narrowed as he took a step back in shock.

"You…" Lelouch all but hissed. "You became a Britannian soldier?"

"Yeah," Suzaku acknowledged, "And what about you? You're a—"

_FLASH!_

In the darkness, intense prismatic light flared into existence from the seams of the high-pressure containment vessel, the brilliance almost blinding as it spread to cover the entire capsule, since apparently the terrorist in the truck had rerouted power from containment to a signal beacon.

_HISSS-THUNK! HISSS-THUNK! HISSS-THUNK!_

As it spread, one by one, pressure build inside, and one by one, pressure locks slammed open, with the capsule opening to reveal—

"That's not poison gas..." Suzaku murmured almost reverently.

—a golden liquid light that was almost…holy in its power, in the middle of which floated the straitjacketed form of a green-haired woman, amber eyes flickering open and fixing on the prince for a moment before they closed and the light faded, with the girl toppling into Lelouch's arms, knocking him flat once more.

"So why don't you tell me the truth, Suzaku," the exiled prince said evenly, as he undid the gag around C.C.'s mouth. "This girl is poison gas, eh?"

"Hey, it's what they told us in the briefing, I swear," the Honorary Britannian replied defensively, flinching as a powerful floodlight washed the scene in white, with thirteen forms silhouetted against it.

"Stinking monkey," came the snarl of the one in the center, apparently the captain of a Royal Guard unit dressed in maroon and gold. "Assisting the terrorists are we? Or were you beaten? In either case, being an honorary Britannian will not excuse you!"

"But sir," Private Kururugi protested futilely, running up to the elite troops, and fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately for his inner death wish) was not shot as a threat for his rapid approach or his show of consorting with a "terrorist". "I was told this was poison gas."

"How dare you question orders?!" the Captain of the Royal Guard barked, backhanding the private across the face, a disciplinary blow that staggered Suzaku, though he accepted it with the knowledge that he could not oppose the system. Seeing this posture of submission, the Guard Captain smiled cruelly, handing a pistol to the young soldier. "However, in light of your outstanding military achievements I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Private Kururugi. Take this and execute the terrorist."

Suzaku glanced back over his shoulder to see his friend watching him, the penetrating gaze of the exiled prince's purple eyes boring into him, asking him silently if he was really willing to betray a friend for the sake of a hated role. With this, Private Kururugi silently made up his mind.

"But he's not a terrorist, sir," the Honorary Britannian said softly but firmly. "He's a civilian who got caught up in all this."

"You insubordinate little...! That's an order!" the Captain of the Guard barked out. "Didn't you swear your loyalty and your life to Britannia?"

"Yes, but... but I can't," Suzaku answered, knowing full well what the consequence of this would likely be.

_Vrrrrrrr!_

The sound of a motor whirring in the distance, approaching the area quickly.

"What?" the Guard Captain asked, unsure he was hearing properly.

"I won't do it, sir…I won't shoot a civilian," Private Kururugi stated, turning his back on the Captain of the Guard to face his friend in what he thought would be his final moments, a peaceful smile on his face at the thought of death. "I can't follow your orders, sir."

"Very well," the man replied, pressing his weapon to the enlisted man's back and pulling the trigger.

_Crack! Thump!_

A single gunshot echoed in the chamber, and then the body of Suzaku Kururugi, son of late Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi, crumpled to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut, even as the sneering bastard that commanded the Royal Guard turned to face the shaken Lelouch, and the form of a Witch that had just opened her eyes.

"It seems you chose the wrong day to cut class, schoolboy," the man jeered, savoring the sight of a young boy quivering in fear as he issued orders to his subordinates. "Collect the girl. After you've secured her, kill the student."

"Yes, My Lord," answered his sycophantic minions, moving to carry out the orders as—

BOOM!

—a cloud of dust and hot gas was thrown outward as the truck that had carried the gas container exploded, sending smoke and wreckage everywhere.

An intelligent boy by any measure, Lelouch took this distraction as his chance to escape, dragging the green-haired woman to her feet and into an access tunnel nearby, running for both of their lives as explosions rumbled in the distance, with the woman more or less keeping pace, almost floating above the ground.

'_We lost them,'_ the exiled prince thought to himself, breathing a sigh of relief as he came to the exit of the tunnel in an abandoned warehouse—only to stop cold at the sound of voices, and a low angry whine of a speeding motor. _'No…the Royal Guard outmaneuvered me…'_

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Their guns blazed, tongues of fire flashing from the muzzle in the dimness as they cut down the few Japanese who had sought reference here—men, women—even a little girl crying for her mother.

And then—

_Purururu!_

The exiled prince swore silently at his luck, hand scrabbling to silence his ringing phone, but the instant it had rung, it had already been too late.

_Screech!_

The sound of something skidding to a halt in the tunnels below.

The next few seconds were a blur, as Lelouch was seized by the Royal Guards and thrown violently against the wall, with others snatching the green-haired woman away from him, before collectively pointing their rifles at the Britannian student, intending to have a little fun with power games before they executed him.

"What an appropriate location for a terrorist to meet his end," the Captain of the Guard sneered, his mouth grinning sadistically as the boy was slumped against the wall, the breath knocked out of him.

"You scum," Lelouch managed to say, brave words when confronted by more than a dozen men with assault rifles.

"You did well for a student, but that's to be expected, as you're a Britannian," the elite soldier allowed condescendingly. "Unfortunately, my clever young friend, you have no future. This will be your end."

"No…it will be yours," spoke a voice from the direction of the tunnels, as a blood splattered grim reaper with glowing blue eyes blurred into motion, vanishing from sight.

"Huh?"

A footstep, as the men whirled to see—

_Slash! Stab! Whirl!_

—an arc, a whorl of silver light tracing delicate lines, as the two men collapsed, sliced into seventeen pieces in an instant.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Tracers of light and fire flared out, with the men desperately trying to hit this demonic creature, only to end up shooting one another, with a stray bullet streaking towards Lelouch—which the green-haired witch blocked by shielding him with her body, as she knew he mustn't die, taking the shot right between the eyes.

'_Why did she…'_

"No…"

Katana in one hand, combat knife in the other, Mana Ryougi struck with the speed of an avenging angel, her terrible swift sword flashing again and again, each blow claiming the life of a man, the sword stabbing the dot as the knife traced their lines, dismembering them in a dance macabre. Her eyes had taken in the acts that the Royal Guards had committed, and by their actions she judged them. Oh, she would have killed them regardless, as it would be disastrous if the core of the Britannians knew of the Grey Witch's location, but seeing the dead merely made her…angry.

'_You will all die…'_

A lucky bullet grazed her arm, but Mana was not worried, having learned to deal with pain a long time ago. One simply had to force oneself to move, to act, disregarding the fact that the wound might be painful, that one might need to treat it—and one would be rewarded by the prize of standing over the corpses of her enemies, with them hearing her laugh as the light faded out from their eyes.

'_You will all die…'_

_Slash! Flash! Squelch!_

Eviscerate, disembowel, severing the limbs one by one, decapitating—so the Ryougi moved, a perfectly-rational, perfectly-logical berserker eliminating her prey with extreme prejudice, destroying their very concepts of existence.

_Crack-a-cr—clink! Thunk!_

A weapon fell to the floor, broken into pieces, as a blade was shoved into the hapless would-be shooter's throat, another slashed across the gullet, the spray of blood like a fountain as it gushed out in force.

Shrieks of terror, prayers unanswered.

One could not stop an angry Ryougi.

One had no time, no ability to oppose her, to plead or to placate her—and the fury inside of her heart could only be assuaged in death—though frighteningly enough, her judgment was never clouded by anger, senses never impaired by the blood rage…no…this was much more terrifying than that…a lucid, terrifyingly focused avatar of death, seeming less human than the Reaper herself.

_Slash! Slash!_

More fell, a torrent of blood painting the floor a crimson red, and then there was but one more left…the once sneering Captain of the Royal Guard, who turned to run, taking one step and—

"Oof—!"

But there was no chance for him from the beginning, and the sneering bastard groaned as his back was slammed into the ground, his limbs sliced away and tossed aside, with the avatar of death standing on his neck, emotionless eyes glowing azure blue, with her sword at his throat.

In the vision of that man, all else had faded. There was only darkness... and her, an expressionless, emotionless figure splattered with blood.

"Say something," the Satsujinki voiced simply, prepared to listen to the man's last words.

The man trembled, eyes wide as he was lost in his fear of impending death.

"I... don't want to... die..." the proud Captain of the Guard managed, whimpering at the razor sharp kiss of the blade that had already severed his limbs.

Hearing this, Mana smiled warmly.

"I want to kill you."

_Squelch!_

A sickening sound, as a bloodstained blade was driven through the soldier's neck, a savage jerk serving to complete the long-awaited decapitation.

Task at hand completed, the raven-haired girl turned off her disconcerting eyes and snatched up her weapon once again, wiping off the blade and sheathing it as she stalked towards the place where Lelouch had nearly pasted himself to the wall, with C.C. rising from the "fatal" blow, casting a glance at Mana.

"You're a little late," the Grey Witch spoke to the Chokushi no Magan adept, though the bloodstained reaper only raised an eyebrow. "But thanks anyway."

"And you are more trouble than you're worth," came the fast reply of her ward, with the blue-eyed woman inclining her head slightly. "But you're welcome anyway, witch. In any case, the military has completed encircling the ghetto. To escape, we will need a diversion."

"Yes, I am well aware that even you cannot fight off an entire army, Mana," C.C. answered, looking over at the shaken Lelouch vi Britannia. "As for a distraction…I have an idea."

"I take it this is your…?"

"Indeed…one who mustn't die," answered the Witch, reaching out and touching the exiled prince's forehead, as her form glowed with inner light, with Lelouch's world fading into strange images of times long ago.

"_You have a reason to live, a driving force that compels you, do you not, son of Marianne?"_ The voice of the mysterious green-haired woman spoke into his head, the same that had when he fell into the truck, but how would she be…

"How can you…"

He shivered, remembering the orgy of death that he had just seen, and how the green-haired woman had taken a bullet to the head, and yet survived as if that were nothing.

"_You lack only the power to fulfill your resolve. In that case, I offer you a deal…accept my gift of power, and in return, you will serve as my ally in this war…that is the geass I lay upon you.'_

Now the prince was confused, but considering what he had seen, and that he wished to _live…_

"_By_ _the First, which governs creation, by the knowledge that I hold as the Grey Witch, this is our Contract, inviolable under Gaia. Be warned, magus, that to accept is to live __as a human, but also as one completely different. Different rules, different time, a different life…the Knowledge of the king will make you lonely indeed."_

A sudden flood of images: ruins in different parts of the world, his father standing in a grand temple, lines and runes, and a great glowing eye.

"_Are you prepared, Lelouch vi Britannia?"_

There was only one answer he could make.

"I hereby accept this contract."

With those irrevocable words, the exiled returned to reality, knowledge flooding into his head as he turned to face the straitjacketed Grey Witch and the Satsujinki curiously. He opened his mouth to ask—

_BOOM!_

But before the exiled prince could say anything to the walking enigma that was C.C. or her assassin, the doors of the warehouse collapsed in a billowing plume of dust, with a Knightmare Frame bursting through the wreckage, only to halt at the sight of the blood and bodies on the ground.

"What happened here, boy?" a harsh, feminine voice boomed from the war machine. "And why is a Britannian student in a place like this with a prisoner and an Eleven?! Answer me or…"

"You in the Knightmare," the boy spoke in a language unlike any upon the Earth today, a language that had not been spoken since thousands of years ago. "Come out and hand over the key to your Sutherland."

Eyes widened as the command took hold, and try as Viletta Nu might to resist, she could not, her fingers reaching towards the cockpit hatch switch. For that was the power of the Unified Language, even if what Lelouch was speaking was only a distant dialect of it—a power spoken not to the mind, but directly affecting the soul through Akasha, with receivers unable to do naught but unquestioningly obey, as rejecting the words of the Unified Language would be the same as rejecting your own existence—unless of course, they knew the language themselves, which Viletta unfortunately did not, or had been exposed to it in the past (which would grant partial resistance).

"At once, my lord," the woman replied, disembarking from her Sutherland and walking towards the trio, holding out the key to her Knightmare Frame. "The code is XG2-ID2D4."

_Stab! Thump!_

With the pilot of the Knightmare Frame having served her purpose, Mana Ryougi sliced through Viletta's point of death, giving her a merciful end, as the body slumped lifelessly to the floor. That accomplished, she walked over to the Grey Witch, regarding the one who had served as her guardian...

"You…" Lelouch breathed, his eyes haunted by the specter of so much death.

"Get going, boy," the First Magician spoke dismissively, clearly unwilling to give any answers at this point in time. "There is much to be done, and you have an army to defeat, do you not?"

With that, the Sorceress and the Chokushi no Magan adept looked at one another, then turned and began to walk away, leaving strange questions in the boy's mind.

'_Who are they? That swordswoman who was like death…and the green haired woman in the capsule, who gave me this arcane power…'_

But before his mind could think itself in circles, the exiled prince cut himself off with a scowl. For with the power he had been given, the initial conditions had finally been cleared.

* * *

**A/N**: This "dialect" of the Unified Language that Lelouch possesses allows him to give Absolute Orders to those in range of his voice, not including over the radio. As it is not quite the original language, a mind will develop resistance to it after the first exposure. Think of it more like Rai's Geass than anything else…no eye contact needed, so he'll have to be very specific about the wording of his orders, won't he? And since the Unified language is more natural to the tongue than any other, if he should slip...uh-oh--we all remember what happened to Rai, now don't we? In other news, thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated.


	3. Broken Wings

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto**

In Shinjuku, the streets ran red with blood and terror as the Britannian Army carried out their orders to exterminate the Elevens, slaughtering any they came across in humor as if doing naught but playing a game, some even keeping track of their kill count in competition with one another. Screams, shrieks, wails of pain tore from the throats of civilians as they ran like lemmings to their deaths, any attempt to flee rendered futile by the overwhelming presence of the military.

'_Help us…please…somebody…help u—'_ some prayed, whispered, pled—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—but their voices were cut off by a snarling hail of lead, as their bodies were ripped and ruined, torn apart into bloody splatters, with the Britannians making sport of the massacre, jeering and laughing over the radio.

Within the cockpit of his stolen Sutherland, Lelouch Lamperouge was feeling ill at ease, his head throbbing from the aftereffects of having a surge of mana run through his magic circuits for the first time, thanks to his acceptance of the contract and _using_ the Unified Language.

'_What's…happening…to me?' _the exile thought as he clutched his side, wincing in pain as power coursed through him, forbidden knowledge _engraving_ itself into his mind with a sensation as if the nerves were being ripped from his body. _'I'm…melting…"_

"I should have known better than to make a contract with…Arrgghhh!"

His thought was cut off by what felt like molten metal being injected under his skin, as his magic circuits were forced into operation, his breath ragged, body sweating like a pig as an overwhelming wealth of information flooded through his senses—

"Ha—guh, ha—guh… "

'_Contract? __Magus? The five gates revolving…'_

The raven haired prince was beginning to think that he really should have paid more attention to the terms of the contract (the fine print, as it were), before—

"Ack! Gahhh!"

_Stab! Stab!_

—illusionary pain, as if swords were sprouting from every inch of his body, ripping through muscle and organs, breaking bones, rending flesh, tearing out to screams of excruciating pain that built and grew and increased—and then leveled off, the novice magus' flushed body beginning to release endorphins to dull the pain, leaving a kernel of arcane lore in the depths of his mind.

'_So I am a magus of the Lamperouge lineage, and now I'm consorting with a witch. Then again, whatever is necessary for victory, I suppose,__' _Lelouch thought, as his consciousness fought tooth and nail to return to reality, anchoring itself to the present by fixing on the voices coming over the radio and the beeping from the Knightmare's factsphere. _'It seems that the Britannians have overwhelming numerical superiority, which means they can afford to be careless, treating this like a game. The resistance, on the other hand…'_

From what the exiled prince could discern, while the Britannian military kept pouring more and more forces into the ghetto, systematically eliminating every Eleven within with impunity, most of the resistance was trying to escape, while a single terrorist—the redheaded girl in the Glasgow—was stalling for time—a tactic that would prove useless in the end—

'_Unless they receive a bit of outside assistance,' _the Black Prince thought, his lips curling up into a cruel smirk. _'Well then…why don't I show Clovis how a master plays at war, using the terrorists as my pawns…though it will be difficult without—'_

A shrill beeping from the information screen drew his attention, as a transmission from the Viceroy's Mobile Command Base indicated that a shipment of Sutherlands was being sent through the ghetto to reinforce the Britannian position.

'_How foolish… with this, you have given me the tools for my victory!'_

Stifling the urge to laugh maniacally (at least until he was clearly winning, since while therapeutic, evil cackling could be very distracting), Lelouch thumbed the transmit button of the terrorist communicator he carried.

"You in the Glasgow, use the tracks to move to the west entrance," the exile ordered, as he readied his Knightmare for an ambush.

"What the…?! Who's this?!" came the angry sputter in reply, which was only to be expected. "How the hell do you know this code?"

"That doesn't matter," the voice of the Black Prince said imperiously, dismissing the questions as if they were beneath his notice. "If you want to win, you will have to trust me."

'_Well then, time to bet my life on my skills…again.'_

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

Back at Ashford Academy, a place far removed from the scene of carnage taking place in Shinjuku, Milly Ashford, Shirley Fenette, and Nina Einstein, the three girls of the absurdly powerful Student Council, were merrily having lunch like on any other day, when Milly's head suddenly snapped up, a tense set to her body as she looked over at the direction of the Shinjuku Ghetto, where a plume of smoke could be seen in the distance.

"Milly…what's wrong?" asked the timid Nina, frightened at the unnatural reaction that the Student Council President was displaying.

"Milly…are you ok?" Shirley chimed in hesitantly, as the orangette cut herself off in the middle of a rant about a certain tall, dark and handsome (but lazy) Vice-President Lamperouge, feeling an ominous pressure wash over the area.

And then the air of danger was gone, with the curvaceous blonde turning to Nina with her usual smile.

"Nina, can you do me a favor?" Milly asked, as casually as always.

"Yes, what is it?" Nina replied, the easily impressionable girl more than willing to be of help.

"Can you find out if there's anything strange going on around the settlement today?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Anything strange?" Nina repeated timidly, opening a browser on her ever-present laptop and typing in a query. "The only thing is traffic restrictions around Shinjuku…why?"

A troubled expression, as Milly's deep blue eyes swept over all present and she let out a heavy sigh, tension draining from her as though it had never been there to begin with.

"Oh, nothing, just a feeling, you could say…"

**

* * *

**

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Tunnel System**

Meanwhile, as the battle raged above, the Grey Witch and her Satsujinki had retreated back to into the network of subway tunnels that ran under Shinjuku (to say nothing of the rest of the general Tokyo area), their blood splattered forms stalking through the darkness towards the place where the Vespa motor scooter was parked.

"As described, our escape route has been cut off by the encirclement," Mana Ryougi reported, nodding in slight deference to her guardian. "Are you certain that your contractor be sufficient to deal with the military?"

To this, C.C. could only respond with an eloquently raised eyebrow.

"Lelouch? He should be," the Sorceress in White allowed, lips curving ever so slightly into a grimace. "That is, if his ability at chess matches his ability to command—and if he remembers that the battlefield is not a game…"

"…and if he proves compatible with the fragment of power you vested in him, unlike your previous contractor," the young Satsujinki added tersely, to which the Grey Witch inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Forcibly awakening an untried magus' magic circuit in a battle situation is—"

"—unwise, I am aware, having a tad more experience than you," C.C. replied dryly, giving her ward one of her exasperated _looks. _"However, I didn't exactly have much of a choice, did I?"

"No, though it is likely that the irregulars called Magus Killers are on their way as we speak, having detected your earlier outpouring of mana," the Ryougi noted, eyeing the Witch next to her. "The Britannians were…displeased with the attack on the facility, after all."

"So they were and so they are," the Sorceress murmured, coming to a halt in the middle of a subway tunnel where the Vespa was parked, away from any stations or junctions with other lines. "Likely a squad of higher-ranking irregulars coming to retrieve me, homing in on my position, as I cannot completely conceal my presence when not behind a bounded field."

"Hm," Mana grunted, knife in hand as she cocked her head, listening for the sound of footsteps, retrieving a few items from the cargo basket to hand to C.C., the most important being a set of fingerless gloves. "The usual strategy then?"

"Indeed," the Sorceress in White affirmed, donning the gloves quickly, as the runes inscribed on them took effect, feeding from her mana to create a miracle — Ihwaz, Ehwaz, Tiwaz combining to enhance defense, speed, and strength. "I will deal with the Magus Killers, buying time for you to cut off the head of the snake."

"Very well," the Satsujinki said, with her face once more in the expressionless mask of a killer. "Do try not to draw too much attention, witch."

"Me? Draw attention…where did you ever get that idea?" asked the green-haired witch, her deadpan voice laced with just a hint of sarcasm.

"Very funny, sorceress, though I trust you have your methods, even without resorting to your…hidden ability," Mana noted, nodding once as she mounted her Vespa and started the quietly running engine. "Though I can't say the same for your inexperienced contractor…"

"One can only hope so," C.C. responded, her tone somewhat non-committal.

"Ah yes," spoke the Ryougi, eyes glowing blue once again as she enabled her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. "Hope, that worst of all evils…"

"…you're a little young to be that cynical, Mana," the Grey Witch said dryly, snorting as she regarded her longtime ward. "Even if you've been around me for too long."

"I see death each time I open my eyes, the fragility of the world," the Satsujinki replied gravely, looking oddly at the immortal without any lines or points of death for a moment. "I think I have that right."

_Vrrrr!_

And with that, the Vespa sped off into the tunnels once more, carrying with it a girl who could kill nearly anything that existed.

"So you might at that," C.C. spoke at last, when Mana was out of earshot, before flaring her magic circuits as a beacon to any attentive magus killers in the area.

'_Come and get me…if you dare.'_

* * *

**Mobile Command Center**

From his command throne in the G-1 Mobile Base where he was monitoring the tactical situation, Viceroy Clovis la Britannia was not pleased, given the circumstances. On top of losing contact with the Royal Guard sent to retrieve the experimental subject, as well as three of the purist faction Sutherlands, one of the supply trains en route to his position had vanished, apparently destroyed.

'_Still, our position remains favorable,_' the Third Prince mused, stroking his chin. _'Even with the minor losses we have taken, the terrorists pose little threat to our vastly superior army. No, I am rather more concerned about what was taken from our research facility…'_

"Our forces report that the terrorists are mixed among the Eleven populace, and are continuing to mount a minor resistance against us," relayed General Bartley Asprius, the thick, heavyset man sweating profusely in his anxiety. As the head of the Code-R project, an investigation into immortality that had _not_ been disclosed to the Emperor, Bartley was understandably frantic about retrieving the spontaneously regenerating test subject, since exposure would mean the loss of his career—and quite possibly his life. "Still—"

"Yes, yes, we know that, Bartley," the Third Prince snapped impatiently, even as his eyes regarded the screen displaying the advance of Britannian forces. "Get to the point."

"Understood, Your Highness," replied an abashed general. "We have made the main forces aware of the threat of the gas capsule—"

"And the status of the search?" the Viceroy demanded, rather tense, considering that his rank and social standing was on the line. Were the Emperor to discover that Clovis had been keeping this immortal woman a secret from him, then—well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. "Has the squad of Irregulars found anything yet, whether dead or alive?"

At that, Bartley had a little bit of news to report.

"Yes, Your Highness," the bald researcher said, swallowing at his liege's ire. "They have detected signs of the enemy in the tunnels below, and are moving to intercept."

Hearing this, Clovis allowed his expression to soften ever so slightly, as relief flooded through him.

"Excellent," the Third Prince of the Empire stated, his fingers drumming on the armrests of his command throne. "Then we can simply concern ourselves with the more pedestrian task of eliminating the terrorists."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Streets**

It was rather funny how circumstances could change in a matter of moments, even when one's role didn't, reflected a somewhat curious Kallen Kozuki, as the spirited warrior piloted her Glasgow as a decoy to lure enemy forces into position for an ambush. Only minutes before, the young half-Britannian had been caught in a one-sided battle against two Sutherlands that would have likely—_no…almost certainly, if she was going to be honest—_led to her defeat (and likely death).

'_I would have tried to take at least one with me, paying the Britannians back for their slaughter as best I could, but…'_

A powerful, vaguely familiar voice had spoken to her over the radio, ordering her proceed to the West Entrance, brushing off her angry retort by saying that she would have to trust him if she wanted to win.

'_Victory, eh?'_

In a very real way, her situation mirrored that of the Japanese Resistance as a whole…seeking to delay, to make a show of force, to gain a foothold and trade lives for time, to slow down the enemy, to steal trinkets from them, to show the Britannians that the Japanese were not going to roll over and die just because Britannia demanded it be so. From the beginning, their positions had been unequal, as displayed over and over again—which was why they had had resorted to stealing the capsule of "poison gas", in an effort to force negotiations, even if things hadn't worked out quite how they planned.

The Britannian army had mobilized. Nagata was likely dead, and the capsule recaptured, with the rest of the resistance cell to share the same fate soon enough.

'_And then a mysterious voice offered us…victory.'_

Against her better judgment, Kallen had decided to do what was told, deciding to gamble on the voice's offer. It wasn't as if she had any better ideas, and all she would lose if she was wrong was her life—which was already forfeit if she had continued her losing battle against the Sutherlands. And the voice had delivered on his promise, not only stopping the frames pursuing her, but giving to the resistance a trainload of Sutherlands as "tools for their victory."

To a resistance cell that had been on the brink of annihilation moments earlier, without any ability to truly fight back against the overwhelming might of Britannia, such a gift was more than enough to kindle that which was most valuable—a sense of hope that maybe they would make it out alive, that maybe, they might even _win._

An exhilarating feeling, to be certain, and so they had followed the voice's instructions, with Kallen going back into the Glasgow to run decoy while the others set up an ambush.

'_There, I see them.'_

_Whirr! Whirr!_

Slash Harkens shot out from two squads of Sutherlands that had converged on her position, the wired blades lancing for her unit, only for Kallen to push the Glasgow to its limits in retreating as—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—the Britannian Knightmares, believing that they had the total advantage, fell into the rebel trap, their Knightmares blindsided by a torrent of gunfire that reduced them to useless scrap metal.

'_It worked. It really worked. Maybe…maybe we _can_ win after all.'_

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Subway Tunnels**

In one of the many abandoned subway tunnels that ran under the Tokyo area, far from any access points to the surface or junctions between lines, the Grey Witch stood alone in the darkness, hands empty, head bowed as senses other than sight monitored the space around her for any irregularities: the sound of footsteps or breathing, the prickly sensation in the air denoting a concentration of foreign mana, the soft whine of electronic equipment, or the miniscule changes in heat or pressure that would signal approaching enemies.

Inhale. Exhale. Fingers twitching.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Inhale. Exhale. Fingers tracing patterns into the air.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Stop_._

_Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!_

The sound of six guns cocking, giving away the locations of the irregulars.

'_Hmm, six of them, three in front, three in back,' _C.C. mused, still looking down as her fingers traced intricate patterns in the air. _'They must really want to take me back, dead or alive, since even two would be difficult for a magus to face.'_

"Greeting, magus," came a harsh voice from the shadows, as one of the Magus Killers spoke. "For your own sake, I would suggest that you surrender, as the odds are against you."

Hearing these words, C.C. only smiled, tracing out the runes Algiz, Nauthiz, Ansuz, and Inguz in the air with the tip of a finger.

"So it would seem," the Grey Witch replied softly, lifting her hands into the air in the universally accepted gesture of surrender. "There are six of you and only one of me, and I am unarmed."

"Heh, a magus is never unarmed," the Magus Killer noted, the electronic night-vision goggles built into his helmet glowing an eerie green. "If you intend to surrender, then swear a contract under Gaia not to resist?"

The Sorceress had no desire to swear a magically binding contract under Gaia, as the price of breaching one of those was the loss of all magical ability.

'_Which, of course, would leave me fully vulnerable to them…'_

Still, in this situation, outnumbered, and probably outgunned, there was only one possible response.

"_**Ath nGabla,"**_the Grey Witch intoned, as a glowing circle of runes blazed into existence around all seven combatants, trapping all within into an unbreakable space from which none could escape. "That is my answer. Too bad you didn't run when you had the chance."

Ath nGabla - the rune of death matches, forbidding retreat to the one who invoked it, preventing those who saw it from withdrawing—until either the caster, or the caster's enemies were dead.

_Thump! Crack! Crack! Crack! _

Sensing the killing intent radiating from the men, C.C. sprang to the side as they fired, reinforcing her muscles and bones with magecraft, as a torrent of lead shot out, accompanied by a surge of lightning from one of the enemies, as the smell of ozone gathered in the air.

_Fzhing! _

"Ungh!" C.C. cried out as a wave of lighting grazed her side, the molten plasma carving a carbon-black score into her body, as she continued her deadly dance of evasion.

She was outmatched, that much she knew. Fighting a Magus Killer – magic users trained from the moment they awoke to their abilities for the sole purpose of hunting down other magi—made for an interesting challenge. Fighting six at once was pretty much considered suicide, with the chance of even a superb magus surviving slim, at best.

'_It's a good thing that I'm not a magus then, isn't it?' _the Sorceress in White asked herself, as she _moved_, lunging through the air towards one of her foes. '_Trace…on!'_

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Instantly, six throwing swords materialized in her hands, hurled like bullets in each direction in silver streaks that shot unerringly—

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

—into the ground, embedding themselves into the concrete with hollow _thunks_, as the mage killers laughed, even as more were flung and were dodged, littering the ground and walls with Black Keys.

"Great aim there, magus," the lead irregular scoffed as his eyes tracked the swords, not even bothering to dodge as he brought up his massive sidearm and pulled the trigger – giving C.C. all the time she needed to strike.

_Cra—squelch! _

The trigger clicked, and the Grey Witch sprang into action, twisting in midair and torquing her body forward, executing the move at the same instant that the weapon spat out a pellet of hot metal death. Ignoring the heat that singed her hair and the deafening report that filled her ears, the Sorceress ducked under her opponent's outstretched arm—and smashed three freshly-materialized swords through her opponent's chest.

"Air burial! Cremation!" C.C. barked, as—

_Crik—Fwoosh!_

—the body of the first of her enemies went up in a pillar of flame, as the added effects on C.C.'s Black Keys took activated—the first two draining the target of all moisture, the second incinerating it, as the Grey Witch moved to attack her next target.

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_

On instinct alone, C.C. dropped low to the ground - rolling aside as shots rang out once again, piercing the air where her head, heart, and throat had been occupying only mere moments before.

Dodge. Weave. Duck.

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_

A shot to the chest – evaded. A volley to the gut – dodged. One to the –

_Crunch_!

But there were too many for her to dodge effectively, and the Grey Witch cursed as a powerful round slammed into her right arm and shattered the bone underneath, rendering the limb useless, followed by—

_Fzzzzzz! Hiss-snap! Thud!_

—a powerful bolt of lightning that picked up the Sorceress and hurled her bodily against the wall of the subway tunnel, leaving rather nasty burns across most of her form, and a small, cauterized hole burned through her gut.

Gritting her teeth and narrowing her eyes, the Witch rose, projecting three new swords into her hands, as she barked out:

"_**Ehwaz! Ihwaz! Uruz!**_"

Three runes glowed in the air and swirled together, wrapping around the immortal's form like some strange armor of light, as she renewed her assault, aiming for the next enemy, as—

_Fzzzzzz!_

—a bolt of lightning shot out, which C.C. leapt into the air to avoid, spinning about and –

_Thwack!_

—slamming her reinforced elbow into her opponent's solar plexus, as the magus killer folded over, the air expelled forcefully from the man's lungs and leaving her winded—all the opening that the immortal needed, as she brought her Black Keys to bear and swiftly decapitated the man, the severed stump of his neck gushing blood into the air as—

"_**Sea of Blood,**_" one of the others whispered, as the mist of blood—as well as that which splattered C.C.'s clothes ignited, burning like napalm as it surrounded her, the hungry flames searing into her flesh, licking at her skin. While her runes of protection would provide some defense against this, especially against the airborne incendiary, the issue was the blood soaked into her garments, wreathing her in flames.

'_I see…if this keeps up for too much longer, I'll be disabled…'_

"_**AYWOOO!" **_the immortal hissed, her face contorted with rage, as she charged in a haze of flame towards the next opponent, Black Keys lunging out as—

_Clang!_

—they were blocked by a thin, hyper hard membrane of silvery liquid metal encasing her opponent in a shell, with—

_Squelch! Crack! Crack!_

—a tentacle of the same impaling her through the chest, piercing a lung and breaking bones, as two bullets tore into her body, draining yet more of the Witch's life force.

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Streets**

On the streets of Shinjuku, amidst the charging knightmares, and the hail of flechettes, a young girl could be seen moving from shadow to shadow, the cover of one building to the next, as she made her way towards the G-1 Mobile Base, not so much running as vanishing and reappearing all at once, as she moved faster than the eye could see by killing the very concept of distance with her knife.

Around her, explosions boomed, and bullets hissed through the air, as one by one, Britannian army units were shredded by the tactics of the rebels, as they attacked from behind, the side, above, ruthlessly cut down, one by one.

'_Interesting…I suppose that the contractor was more capable than he appeared, as…ah.'_

Mana raised an eyebrow as a rather large contingent of Knightmares was swarmed into the ghetto via the central road, seemingly an overwhelming force that would utterly annihilate any resistance forces remaining.

That was, if the resistance forces were there to be destroyed—which they weren't, as the Britannians discovered to their dismay as the ground collapsed beneath them, eliminating the entire assault force in one fell swoop—and crushing the morale of any survivors outside.

'_The encirclement has been broken, the enemy is vulnerable…time to go…'_ the Satsujinki thought to herself, beginning to flash-step towards the perimeter—but halting as a white and gold Knightmare zoomed past her location with incredible speed. _'Hmm…I wonder…no, as much as I would like to face it, that is the contractor's role…I have other affairs to settle…'_

* * *

**Cockpit, Z-01 Lancelot**

Within the cockpit of the experimental prototype Z-01 Lancelot, Suzaku Kururugi pushed his Knightmare Frame forward with as much speed the ME boost would allow, flipping the throttle to full, racing off the transport and into the ruins of Shinjuku at top speed.

'_The people out there…they made their choice, and no good can come from reprehensible means,'_ the naïve devicer thought, a thought that was particularly delicious in its irony from a man who had murdered his father for the cause of peace. _'With this weapon, with Lancelot, I can stop the senseless killing, stop all the enemy Knightmares at once!'_

Clearly, the cognitive dissonance of his actions and choices had affected his mind, as the only "senseless killing" taking place on this day was the massacre of the Elevens by the Britannians – a massacre which the resistance was attempting to stop.

'_The enemy is before me,' _he thought, narrowing his eyes, reveling in the sensation of how well the Lancelot handled, it performance superior to any other extant Knightmare as it wove back and forth, advancing in a zig-zag pattern as—

_Crunch!_

—the Lancelot slammed one of its white, gauntleted fists into a Sutherland before him, knocking it to the ground as the enemy pilot ejected.

'_Ugh…'_

Unfortunately for the would-be White Knight, he had to deal with the bullet wound he'd received earlier, and swollen nose and eye lowering his performance.

'_Lelouch…'_ Kururugi muttered under his breath, remembering the disowned prince of Britannia that he had nearly killed earlier today, the exile who he has once called his best friend. _'Did you make it out? Or did the Royal Guard…?'_

It was hard to know what to think about the actions of that group from earlier, though it was likely that they were simply being overzealous and did not believe his objections that Lelouch but a civilian, given that the raven-haired prince had very much been in the wrong place at the wrong time. For now though, he would just focus on the enemy before him.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Tracers of light and fire streaked from the assault rifles of enemy Knightmares at the Lancelot, but with a quick command, Suzaku activated his frame's Blaze Luminous energy shields, deflecting the projectiles as he advanced—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! _

—with four Slash Harkens shooting out from his unit, each targeted at a different enemy Knightmare—

_Crash! Clang! Crunch!_

—tearing through the less capable frames with ease, as the Lancelot continued its implacable advance, dodging, charging forward recklessly as more units converged upon it—and were destroyed.

_Swish! Slam! _

Using his Slash Harkens like powerful whips, Suzaku flung them outwards, jerking back on the tether to alter the tethered blades' trajectories to rip another enemy apart, as his factspheres caught sight of—

'_A thermal reading inside a building…that must be the leader! If I can take it out—'_

Applying the maximum power the ME boost could give, Suzaku launched one of his Slash Harkens out at the building, with the blade anchoring into the ruin, allowing the Lancelot to pull itself up into the enemy's hiding place!

"Are you the one that's in command?" Private Kururugi demanded, as he pressed his attack, bringing the Lancelot's arm down viciously—

_Clank!_

—though the pilot of this Sutherland was apparently better than most of the rebels, as it managed to bring its arms (Stun Tonfas extended) to block. As Suzaku could not use his superior techniques in these tight quarters, he would simply have to overpower the pilot of the enemy knightmare with brute force, pushing forward as the other unit's landspinners whirred in an attempt to push him back as—

_Rumble—BOOM!_

The floor collapsed beneath the two Knightmares, with both frames falling into a pile of rubble below, though—

_Whirr! Thump!_

Suzaku managed to change the trajectory of his Knightmare using his Slash Harkens as an anchored pivot point, with which to spin kick and—

_Crunch!_

—brutally smash aside the enemy commander's Sutherland, sending it sprawling to the floor, with the Lancelot moving to finish it off when—

_Clang!_

A red, one armed Glasgow attacked him from the side, forcing Kururugi to turn and catch the enemy frame's fist—and Slash Harken, with the Lancelot squeezing down on the Glasgow's arm, as—

_Fwoosh!_

—the left arm of the Lancelot was wreathed in madder flames, the temperature gauge suddenly spiking into the danger zone as the arm was forcibly ejected to prevent damage to the rest of the frame, the sudden ejection causing the Lancelot to lose its balance.

'_What?! Some new weapon?'_

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

And then Glasgow's pilot ejected, distracting Suzaku for a critical moment the Sutherland opened fire, the heavy slugs tearing through the Lancelot's legs and landspinners system as the enemy retreated, damaging them severely, and a howl of horror and rage was heard from the Earl of Pudding, aghast at what had befallen his prize creation in its first battle.

Still, the enemy had retreated, so by the old martial convention of whoever held the field being the victory, this counted as a tactical victory…right?

* * *

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Tunnels**

In the tunnels below, C.C. was not enjoying herself, as might be expected for someone who had been turned into a human torch, body moving by will and magical energy alone. And to make things worse, the next of her opponents apparently had access to some liquid metal Mystic Code that was serving as a shield and weapon both.

'_I see…a shield, eh? Perhaps I can break it down…' _the Witch mused, as injured as she was, slamming her Black Keys out again—

_Clang!_

—only to meet resistance as the membrane of liquid metal blocked once more, and—

_Clash—BOOM! Crumble!_

—_shattered _as the swords exploded on contact, the force directed forward and tearing a gap through the shield for just long enough for—

_Squelch! Squelch!_

—C.C. to smashed three more freshly-materialized swords into this troublesome foe's gut, chanting "Air burial! Cremation!" under her breath, withdrawing her arm as the shield closed up—

_Crik—Fwoosh!_

—serving as a wonderful cremation chamber, as the body within was desiccated and incinerated, with the temperature rising high enough to vaporize the liquid mercury.

'_Damn it, even with regeneration I'm almost at my limit…'_

As the Grey Witch stumbled backwards, materializing a spir, the other magus killers moved forward to land their final blows—or tried to, finding themselves unable to move, as the initial volley of Black Keys had not missed at all, but had hit their intended targets—the shadows of C.C.'s opponents.

'_That's right…through a magical effect, I pin the shadow and thus pin the body, preventing an opponent from moving…'_

_Crack!_

A final blow smashed into C.C.'s chest, with an Origin Bullet forcing the concepts of "Severing and Binding" into her body, as necrosis set in within her organs and flames continued to scorch her body, her hair and clothing already fast burned off by now as she slumped to the floor, with the fiery mist around her sapping her of vitality.

"You've lost, magus, though I admit you did better than expected," said one of the remaining magus killers, though at this point, she couldn't be sure exactly who. "At this point, we just have to wait for your death…"

As C.C. stared up at them, a hint of defiance could be seen in glowing amber eyes as the Witch simply laughed.

"My death, eh?" she asked, gathering what magical energy she had for a final imaging, as a spiral shaped sword appeared in her hand, glowing brighter and brighter. "Well then: Checkmate."

_Thump!_

The imaged Broken Phantasm _**Caladbolg**_ was plunged into the ground, completing the complex pattern of runes that she had created with the Black Keys that had "missed."

_**BOOOOOM!**_

A flash of light and heat, a powerful rumbling, screams, and then darkness claimed all in the tunnel, sending them to their deaths.

* * *

**Mobile Command Center**

After the brief, but fierce battle with the Lancelot, Lelouch vi Britannia made his way towards Clovis' mobile command center, bringing his stolen Sutherland as close as he dared before parking it behind a ruined building, out of sight. From what he could tell, what remained of their forces had all been sent to suppress the residents of Shinjuku and recover the White Knightmare, though still, it would not do for the exile to take undue risks, especially considering that he was still in his student uniform.

'_I have no choice then…I will have to use the Unified Language…'_

Or perhaps not, as the exile saw two decapitated bodies hidden away in this ruin—also Britannian footsoldiers, and had a pretty good idea of who was responsible for this particular bit of carnage.

'_I don't like wearing a dead man's clothes, but if it is what is required for victory, then so be it…' _the contractor sighed, switching clothes so as to make him less conspicuous as he approached Clovis' personal transport.

In this disguise, it was much easier to move around undetected, though a dutiful guard still barred his path outside the mobile base.

"Stop there," the sentry demanded, raising his rifle. "Your ID, soldier? This is Prince Clovis' personal vehicle?"

In his mind, the exiled prince toggled 'on' the switch in his mind governing access to his forbidden store of knowledge.

"You will walk deep into the ghetto and kill yourself," the outcast prince commanded quietly, in a language that spoke to the soul, allowing no disobedience.

"Yes, my Lord," the soldier replied, saluting and walking away, as Lelouch walked over to the door of the transport, only to find that the locking mechanism had been destroyed by what looked like a stab.

'_Something tells me that the Witch's assassin got here a little before me…'_

Upon entering, this was confirmed, as the entirety of Clovis' general staff lay motionless on the floor, each killed with a single stab wound, and Lelouch felt a twinge of trepidation as he made his way up to the command center, noting that someone had already cut off the lights.

_Slide!_

Arriving, the exile opened the door to find a battle raging, the scent of smoke and metal fresh in their air, with many fist-sized burn marks visible on the wall.

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

A wide-eyed Clovis stood on the dais of his command throne, thorn-like bullets of darkness shooting from his extended left hand, raining mercilessly upon a familiar figure in purple, which parried and whirled, slicing the attacks from the air with her blade as she advanced.

'_This is…magecraft?' _Lelouch asked himself, wondering just how much about the royal family he had not been informed about…how many secrets the others had kept.

"You damn Eleven, how are you still standing?" Clovis demands hysterically, bringing up his other hand to redouble his volume of fire, as—

_Whoom!_

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Light and sound exploded, as a storm of magical energy was released, with numerous Gandr shots ricocheting through the command center as if shot from a Gatling gun, throwing up smoke, destroying the tactical council, orbs of darkness bouncing from the walls, the floor, the ceiling as if deflected by a boundary field, as—

_Thud!_

—a knife was thrown into the center of the room, "killing" the boundary field, as a shadow charges, the orbs of darkness grazing her slender form as—

A blur, a silver arc, and—

_Slice!_

A fluid motion of a katana decides the battle, with the razor sharp edge cutting through both of Clovis' lower arms in one blow, utterly destroying his offensive abilities.

"My hands, my—"

Wary of disturbing the Satsujinki, but knowing he needed Clovis alive for the moment, Lelouch took a tentative step forward, removing his helmet.

Quick as a snake, Mana Ryougi whirled, knife poised to throw—but halting in mid-move, though still wary, as she noted the identity of the newcomer.

"Later than expected, though you made it after all, I see," the raven-haired Chokushi no Magan adept said coolly by way of greeting, before turning back to the Viceroy. "Order a ceasefire now, Viceroy Clovis la Britannia."

With his last means of defense gone, the Third Prince was only all too happy to comply, in the end, willing to do anything in order to continue living.

After the ceasefire was declared, with Clovis ordering the troops to pull back, and for aid to be given to all injured, regardless of race, Mana stepped aside, having lost interest in killing the weakened viceroy, as he would no doubt bleed to death anyway. It was no longer a challenge, and thus, no longer a worthy task for a Satsujinki.

On catching sight of the exiled prince, the Viceroy whimpered, as if confronted with an apparition from the past, an illusion.

"No…it's impossible," he whimpered, scrabbling back onto his throne to get as far away from the image of the exile as possible. "You can't be real. You must be an Eleven magus with the Mystic Eyes of Illusion, forcing me to see this…"

_Crack!_

A single gunshot rang out, blowing out the Viceroy's brains and putting an end to Clovis' suffering, as the body slumped on the throne, leaving a bloody smear behind.

"Tch, in the end, I have to finish everything myself," the exile noted grimly, lowering his gun. "Funny, I never would have expected the Viceroy to have an interest in magic."

"Heh, you say that even though you yourself are a magus," Mana Ryougi replied simply, wiping her sword clean on Clovis' relatively unstained robes. "Though I am surprised that you didn't simply order him to obey you, with the power you have been given."

"After this incident?" Lelouch asked skeptically, gesturing out the window to Shinjuku in the distance. "Britannia tramples on the weak and useless, regardless of whom they may be, whether commoner, noble, or royalty. And after a disaster such as this, it would have been a waste of a command, particularly if the woman in the capsule was what he started the massacre over"

"Hm…"

A noncommittal response from the Chokushi no Magan adept, as cold blue eyes studied him for a moment.

_Stab!_

A flash of a blade, and the command throne splintered to pieces, as the assassin looked out the window at the troops all around, now forced into humanitarian relief work by their Viceroy's command.

"Time to go," Mana voiced at last, as she walked out the door, tugging her knife free of the floor on the way. "We will meet again soon, I imagine."

Lelouch could only nod as the assassin walked out of sight, before following her lead and leaving himself.

**

* * *

**

**Shinjuku Ghetto, Tunnels**

Down in the subway tunnels, the low whine of an electric motor could be heard as a bright red Vespa made its way towards the last known location of the Grey Witch, with Mana Ryougi sighing as the headlight on her motor scooter revealed the aftermath of the immortal's battle. Scorch marks filled the surrounding tunnels for hundreds of meters around, with light streaming down from where the ceiling had collapsed in the last great explosion, illuminating a head of green hair peeking out from a mound of debris.

'_Clearly, the Grey Witch chose the overkill option again…' _Mana groused, her sore body protesting as she dug the unconscious Sorceress free of the surrounding pieces of debris, breaking the larger pieces of rubble with her knife where necessary. _'What happened to trying _not_ to draw attention?'_

Still, the Satsujinki supposed that C.C. had done only what was necessary for victory, as the Witch's role would likely have been no picnic, particularly if she had _needed_ to resort to this level of destruction. And so the young girl finished extracting the naked body of the mostly regenerated C.C., getting the Grey Witch dressed in something—though all that was in the cargo compartment under the seat was a kimono that had once belonged to Mana's mother.

"You just had to do something over the top again, didn't you?" the Chokushi no Magan adept murmured, as amber eyes blinked open painfully, and C.C. gave her ward a sardonic, but exhausted smile.

"Hey, isn't like I can die, right?" the Witch asked dryly, grimacing. "Though I admit that having to reconstitute my body from its component atoms was…annoying."

"…Idiot."

"I haven't been called that in a long time, you know," C.C. replied, giving Mana a _look_, to which the Satsujinki simply snorted, placing the witch in her lap as she got back on the scooter.

"Maybe you just haven't been listening," the Ryougi shot back, looking at her supposed guardian. "Where to?"

"Might as well find a place with a bounded field so I can evade detection from the outside," the Grey Witch shrugged expressively, wincing at the pain of that effort. "There's one in the Tokyo Settlement, I think..."

"Very well then, witch," Mana answered, a faint smile on her lips. "Sounds like a plan."

And thus a motor scooter sped into the night, with Sorceress and assassin headed for a place ruled over by a spellcaster with "GUTS."

**

* * *

A/N**: So, Shinjuku has occurred, a few powers have been revealed (one character having a power similar to Kokutou Azaka's), and things are set in motion for the great game to come. Thanks for reading, and as always reviews are much appreciated!


	4. Dreaming Moon

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Undisclosed Location**

In the midst of night, the rain poured down in unbroken sheets, _pitter-pattering_ in icy torrents that soaked through clothes and seemed to cut through flesh, leeching the color from the world, as Lelouch Lamperouge found himself watching events play out in the middle of a bridge, as several figures did battle in the gloom, the staccato roar of firearms serving as a counterpoint to the sound of shredding metal.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Such was the sound of assault rifles snarling out molten metal death, sending a wave of bullets hurtling towards a gentle-looking Japanese woman, who was doing her best to simply stagger towards the end of the bridge, pressing a hand to her stomach in a futile attempt to keep from bleeding to death. Shock would not be long in coming.

_Splash-splash-splash!_

Feet stomped heavily through puddles, tossing up water, as grey-clad phantoms sheathed in body armor ruthlessly made their way forward, pushing aside metal and the bodies of their comrades as they forced their way through a storm that made it hard to walk. But their objective was in sight, and so this last fireteam made their way forward, keeping their target focused on escape rather than counterattack, as all around, metal poles and other debris were strewn.

"No…I do not…want to die," the dark-haired woman muttered, teeth pressed together, breathing labored, lurching forward through the haze, as blood seeped from the open wound in her gut, the hot pain of the injury burning through the wet cold of the storm. "I…do not…want to die."

Just a few more meters.

"Ungh, Ack!"

A violent cough shook the woman's form, and she stumbled, falling to the ground, finding it difficult to breath. Her legs will not move, having been perforated by bullets, like her gut. Her head was dazed, and there was nothing inside her but pain and the desire to survive.

'_A familiar feeling…just like nearly twenty years ago…' _she thought, reaching out her arms and dragging her body forward, inching towards the divider between the bridge and the embankment. _'It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts!'_

"Ugh!"

Another sharp stab to the gut, the pain getting worse by the second. Face down, the woman coughed out blood, her vision red as numb fingers found the strip of metal delineating the edge of the suspension bridge. With a last heave of effort, she heaved herself over the edge, pupils blazing a hellish red and green as a channel opened in her mind.

"_**Bend!" **_the esper screamed at the top of her lungs, creating in her mind a moment of rotation on either side of the bridge, and _twisting._

_Screech! Cra—whip—BOOOOOM!_

A tumultuous roar, like the crash of lightning, as the high-tension cables holding the structure up snapped one by one, lashing out wildly and smashing through those on the bridge. A rumble, as the world tilted, the supports giving way, the ground shaking—and all collapsed, with the bridge and all upon it falling into the frigid ocean, lost in the storm, as Lelouch's consciousness faded from the place, as if he had been possessing the broken bridge.

The last thing the magus saw as his vision faded was the broken form of Asagami Fujino collapsed where she lay, with a black cat with strange red eyes padding out of the shadows and nuzzling her, with a plaintive "meow".

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement**

'_I will need to invest in a better way to get around,'_ C.C. reflected, as the Witch and Satsujinki sped towards their destination on their Vespa. _'While this vehicle is efficient and useful for Mana's solo missions, it is…inconvenient in situations such as these.'_

At least neither of the two were splattered with blood anymore, since the Grey Witch's straitjacket and other garments had been atomized in the explosion, and the Ryougi had her own way of dealing with blood stains (something to do with picturing the "concept" of the stains on the garment, and then "killing" that concept—which certainly made laundry on the run rather easy), which was a good thing, as that would have made the two overly conspicuous.

Not that the somewhat awkward position in which driver and passenger were seated, with Mana doing the driving and C.C. sitting sideways on her lap, her legs draped over the Ryougi's hips and dangling off the side, her arms hooked around the Satsujinki's neck, wasn't rather conspicuous in itself, but it was so in the way that inspired wolf-whistles rather than suspicion and hateful glares.

'_Though much of that is likely because my hair is hidden…and I'm rather low on magical energy at the moment, so it's actually much easier to shield myself from detection,' _the Grey Witch mused, trying to think about the minor _positives_ about being drained of—

_Gurgle!_

—and that was the not so minor disadvantage.

"No, C.C., we're not stopping at Pizza Hut…" the Satsujinki admonished, having heard the rather loud rumble of the Grey Witch's stomach—and seeing the immortal looking hungrily at the gaudy red and white sign of a certain chain of pizza parlors. "You yourself said that we needed to find a place with a bounded field, so you won't be caught flat-footed."

The Ryougi was then treated to a baleful glare from the amber-eyed witch, whose face was twitching _ever so slightly_.

"You do happen to remember how much energy I need when I'm forced to recreate my body from scratch? And that out of the many ways I can replenish it, the most...mundane is consuming food?" the immortal asked, silently cursing at her lack of mobility at the moment, as the Sorceress didn't fancy letting go of the Satsujinki's neck and risking a spill across the highway. That would likely lead to being run over by a car, and cause…more problems. "Besides, you of all people should know that I cannot live without mana."

A low chuckle from the lips of the raven-haired girl.

"Why thank you, witch," the assassin said mischievously, her voice a pleasantly teasing lilt. "I didn't know I was so loved…or that you were capable of it after so many years."

"Why you…even if I am fond of you, you know very well what I really mean," C.C. quipped in turn, arching one slender eyebrow. "And that I'm not particularly in the mood for jokes when I'm hungry."

"Well, as hungry as you are, you're _not_ touching my strawberry ice cream," the Satsujinki said firmly, with a small huff. "You owe me that much after causing so much trouble."

A small grumble issued from the immortal's lips.

"Hm?"

"You have a point, I suppose," C.C. conceded, grudgingly. "I suppose I'll just force my contractor to buy me some pizza then, after a good night's rest. Onward we go then."

"Is the one that made this field friendly, or will I need to act?" Mana asked, curious about her role in this. Bounded fields seldom materialized without an intelligence's intervention, and most beings capable of creating bounded fields reacted with hostility to unwanted or simply unexpected guests.

"A little of both, I would say, since your persuasion is generally quite helpful."

* * *

**Stadtfeld Residence**

After the debacle that had been the Shinjuku Incident, and the nigh-miraculous ceasefire (which Kallen Kozuki thought might be due to the intervention of the mysterious voice), the fiery spirited resistance fighter barely managed to change and make her way home, and to her room, where she had quickly disrobed and collapsed into the softness of her bed.

'_What a mess…' _the redhead thought, sinking into the reassuring comfort of fresh washed sheets against bare skin, the energy she had borrowed from adrenaline and desperation draining out of her as she finally relaxed—slightly. '_Nagata's probably dead, and the White Knightmare took away our chance of victory…but who was that voice? And what the hell happened in that last skirmish?'_

Fighting against that white mobile armor had been abnormal, that was certain, as Kallen had felt an almost overpowering sensation of mingled anger and grief flood through her as her Knightmare buckled under the strain—only to look on in shock as the left arm of the enemy mech had caught fire, which should have been…

'_Impossible. But then, this whole operation has been strange, from the moment we stole the capsule from the Britannian weapons depot…'_ she mused, glancing over at her right arm, which had been wrapped in bandages to protect it—as it had apparently suffered first-degree burns. _'And it ended strangely too, with the white Knightmare's arm bursting into flames…and the impossible ceasefire. Just what is going on?'_

Even now, Kallen could still feel a wave of heat radiating from her body, with every inch of her skin flushed a tender pink, as exhaustion took her at last. She would simply have to think about things on the morrow, when she had recovered from her activities.

'_I'm just glad most of us made it out alive…'_

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

By day, Ashford Academy was a rather bright and cheerful place, filled with life and vitality as students hustle-bustled from class to class to club activity, a sight that could usually bring a smile even to the campus' resident ice prince Lelouch Lamperouge, to say nothing of the ever ebullient Milly Ashford. But at night, the school was far quieter, with as most students would have either returned home or to their residence in the dorms, leaving the campus deserted.

Or nearly so, at any rate, since a solitary figure could be seen patrolling the grounds, the light of the moon softening the lines of her form.

'_Something strange happened near the settlement today, I know it…' _the curvaceous blonde mused, her blue eyes surveying the campus for intruders as she attuned herself to the boundary field of Ashford Academy. _'The smoke and the flare of mana couldn't have been a simple coincidence…especially not when Lelouch came back with activated circuits, though the Lamperouge abilities were sealed until now...'_

Milly shivered, unable to shake the ominous feeling from the afternoon, as—

Eyes shot wide open, a chill running down her spine as an alarm system of sorts sounded, the alert delivered directly to the mind of the magus charged with maintaining the safety of Ashford Academy – in other words, her.

'_An intruder…a magus has breached the boundary of the Academy… '_

A rather disturbing through, as for a magus to step uninvited into the territory of another without either an invitation or a very good reason was tantamount to a declaration of war, meaning that the blonde would have to confront whoever the intruder was—even fighting them, if necessary.

'_That's right…it's my role to defend the safety of Ashford Academy, and to protect the students therein, as in choosing to come to this school, they entrusted themselves to our protection. I cannot violate this trust…'_

So the blonde thought to herself as she quickened her pace, heading towards the place where the intruders were—

"…waiting," Milly whispered, hands curling into fists as she quietly chanted a spell aria, 'loading' one of her most potent wind spells for quick release, as that was the specialty of the Ashford house.

_Step-step-step._

A fleeting moment of silence, and then—

_Rustle_

—her opponent was before her, a young woman of Japanese descent dressed in the colors of night, an antique knife held loosely in one hand, eerily glowing blue eyes looking intently at the blonde.

"Greetings, magus of Ashford," the Satsujinki challenged, her quiet voice carrying easily in the windless night. "So you are the one charged with maintaining this bounded field?"

"So I am, but what of you?" Milly answered guardedly, glancing at her surroundings and checking her distance—about 10 meters from the other. "Perhaps, but you are no magus, are you?Are you here to eliminate me?"

'_I don't detect a large concentration of mana within her, and if I was this woman's target, she would have already attacked…but—'_

While the intruder's goals were uncertain, it was best to keep the shadow talking.

"No, I am not a magus, and neither are you the one I seek," was the simple response, the assassin's gaze unwavering. "Though my quarry is indeed within the aegis of this field."

"And who might this quarry be be?" Milly inquired, keeping a quaver from her voice, and fearing the worst, her body tensing as mana welled up in her body, ready to be commanded as she saw fit.

_'Guts!'_ she cried out in her mind, the invocation opening her Magic Circuit.

"Simply a magus," was the reply, the knife twitching slightly in the Satsujinki's hand as Mana Ryougi smirked. "The former eleventh prince of the Holy Britannian Empire."

The worst possible response, as it meant Lelouch's identity had been discovered, and if the Ashford heir's suspicions were correct—

'_She's going to kill him, isn't she?'_

"_**Aero!"**_ the blonde spat, extending her hand and speaking a word of power, as Mana blurred, breaking into a run.

_FWOOSH!_

In an instant, a massive vortex of cutting wind was summoned forth to tear apart the assassin, bearing enough power to destroy everything in its path!

_Slash!_

But the spell was nullified by a flash of light, a bright swing of a knife that left a lingering trace in the darkness. Or perhaps one might say...it was killed.

"_**Air Strike!**_"

Chaining one spell to the next, Milly released her second strike, with five blades of razor wind hurtling from the blond magus to shred her foe entirely!

_Fsh! Whirr! Slash! Slice! Cut!_

But the knife was swung still faster, tracing silver arcs of light that eliminated the existence of the blades of wind, as--

And then Mana was in range, striking without hesitation, elbow knocking the wind from the blonde as the Satsujinki forced her to the ground and straddled her, knife poised at the skin of Milly's trembling throat, answering fear with infinitely deep eyes.

"Who...are you?" the blonde whispered, eyes wide in shock, taking in the beautiful figure of impending death,

'_How…how did she just eliminate my—'_

For the magus of Ashford had been defeated by a nameless opponent, a shadow in the night.

"Everything in existence has an imperfection," the raven-haired Chokushi no Magan adept said coolly, the edge of the knife hovering just barely above the magus' skin. "Humans especially, but even air, will, and time. For anything that has a beginning has an end…an end that my eyes can see."

Hearing this, Milly paled, her mind freezing as she recalled the lore in which all magi were drilled, swallowing as she realized what the assassin's power must be.

"You…but how…Balor's eyes, the eyes of death, exist only in—"

"—fairy tales?" Mana Ryougi asked sardonically, a slight edge to her voice as she regarded the blonde beneath her with ominous eyes. "Of course, but so does magic, right?"

_Clip-clip-clip!_

"That is enough," a cool, musical voice intoned, with Milly looking to the source to find the Grey Witch perched upon a lamppost, her white kimono seeming to glow in the moonlight. "I think this proves our point, Satsujinki, as had we truly been the magus killers your family conceals itself from, you would already be dead. Seeing as we do not mean you or those under your protection any harm, this battle is already decided, don't you agree, Milly Ashford?"

"…I will acknowledge my defeat if you swear under Gaia not to harm those under my charge," the blonde replied, a hint of defiance in her voice. She knew that her current position was as far from favorable as possible, but—

A soft laugh.

"You have guts," the Witch acknowledged, seeming almost to smile, though the expression was as fleeting as the wind. "Very well, then I propose a mage's contract. We will spare you life and knowingly bring no harm to those under your protection, and in return the house of Ashford will assist my associates and me in any fashion I deem necessary."

"So be it," Milly voiced, as a surge of magical energy sealed their compact, and the Satsujinki pulled away her blade, helping the blonde to her feet. Surprisingly, the magus was not wounded. Even after a complete and utter defeat, her body did not bear a single scratch.

Still, the battle had indeed been concluded, as the Ashford heir understood that it was impossible to oppose this Eleven as a mage – and to be honest, she couldn't believe she was still alive, that she hadn't simply killed outright.

"…I would ask for your names," the blonde spoke, gazing evenly at her opponent, and the magus in the distance. "As you seem to have me at a disadvantage."

"Mana Ryougi," the Chokushi no Magan adept replied tersely, a simple name that the wind magus inscribed into her mind as the one who, armed with only a knife, had singlehandedly forced her, the one trusted with this territory, into defeat.

The name of a shadow, clad in the colors of night, luxuriant black hair flowing in the wind.

_Thump!_

The sound of the Witch leaping from her post and flipping through the air to the ground below, landing gracefully on her feet.

_'I see...this magus is skilled with organic reinforcement - a technique widely known to be quite...difficult.'_

"And I am called C.C.," the Sorceress intoned, golden eyes staring out into the darkness towards the Student Council Clubhouse where Lelouch Lamperouge resided.

"Not a very human name," Milly noted, walking up to the Grey Witch as if to confirm her suspicions about the other's mana signature. "Or much of one at all."

"As magi, none of us are quite human, are we?" C.C. asked in turn, with Milly conceding the point. "In any case, my true name was forgotten long ago, and it is under C.C. that the Sealing Designation was issued for me, the name which the Magus Killers know..."

"I see, so we share a common enemy then," the blonde said, furrowing her brow as a flash of insight hit. "And judging by your mana signature, I presume you were the one I sensed earlier today on the outskirts of the Settlement..."

"Shinjuku to be precise," C.C. corrected, inclining her head in a simple nod. "Your detection abilities give you credit...or perhaps it is an effect of your bounded field? A useful one, for a family of magi in exile."

"So it is," Milly admitted, narrowing her eyes at the woman before her, as the green-haired girl was seemingly no older than her physically, and yet had an otherworldly presence that bespoke power and age. "And how is it that you know of my family...and the identity of your quarry?"

"Because I was an ally of the house of Lamperouge," the Grey Witch let slip, amber eyes fixing on the younger magus. "Your Academy's bounded field is excellent, by the way, concealing all evidence of magecraft within – though that is also how we found it."

"Oh?"

"You will have noticed that a certain exile now has his magic circuits activated?" the Witch asked, to which the Ashford heir nodded, raising a slender eyebrow. "There were magus killers wishing to eliminate him, so I gave him a gift to allow him to survive."

"Hm, so awakening his potential was your doing?" the blonde asked sharply, glancing askance at the two, though her gaze softened ever so slightly as she took in their words. "And thus, you saved his life?"

A simple nod, silence hanging in the air.

"Then you have my deepest gratitude," Milly said softly, showing her vulnerable side for a brief moment, inclining her head to both the Sorceress and the Satsujinki. "Though I suppose he owes you his allegiance in return, and that is why you seek him out?"

"So it would seem, by the principles of equivalent exchange? Every wish, every action has a price," Mana replied with some amusement, lips quirking up into a small smile. "Still, there is no need to fear for his life, at least not by our hands."

"I see...fair enough for now," the Ashford heir said firmly. "What are your intentions?"

"For the moment, to escape the sight of the magus killers in Area 11, while I gather my allies...a matter which may interest you," was all the immortal said for now. "In any case, we will require a place to stay and a workshop, preferably close to...our mutual friend...if at all possible. And of course, since his circuits have been awakened, he will now need to be trained, lest he become a liability."

A soft sigh from Milly.

"Very well, I suppose there's more room in the Student Council Clubhouse," the blonde said, interest piqued despite herself. "I will inquire about the details at a future date, and handle the training, as he is under my family's care. Is there anything else you require?"

"Our mutual friend should be able to handle the rest of our requests," C.C. smirked, her voice a perfect deadpan. "After all, he does owe us his life. However, if aught comes up, we will notify you. Now shall we see to our arrangements?"

"Very well then," the Ashford heir acknowledged, as the trio made their way towards the Student Council Clubhouse, bound together by words of oath and obligation. "Oh, and as needless as it is, may I be the first to welcome you to Ashford Academy."

* * *

**A/N**: The Witch and Satsujinki join up with the rest of the cast at Ashford Academy, a place possessing a strong bounded field that conceals evidence of magic, as Lelouch's transference of consciousness ability sporadically activates in his sleep. It would be an accurate guess to say that his credit card will soon be used to buy a hungry witch her pizza. Thanks for reading, and reviews are much appreciated!


	5. Enchanting Aria

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai crossover

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Lamperouge Residence, Ashford Academy**

"Haa—guh, haa—guaahhhhh!"

Lelouch Lamperouge awoke panting as agony rushed through every part of his body, as though his flesh and bones were being ripped apart by a thousand blades, unnatural heat surging outward and then back, as his nerves went haywire, vision flashing white.

'_Cold…it's so…cold…no…it burns…'_ the exile thought, whimpering as heat was leeched away from the very core of his body, concentrating instead in the molten wires of his nerves. _'What the hell is happening to me? This…this has to be that witch's fault…!'_

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

He tried to calm himself by the time-honored technique of focusing on the breath, but each shuddering breath hissing through his clattering teeth instead introduced him to a new kind of hell, as if nostrils, throat, and lungs were being stabbed with hundreds upon thousands of tiny icy blades, only inflaming the pain in his body as lightning raged up and down his spine.

'_Calm…calm…calm,'_ the outcast prince chanted in his head over and over, forcing his awareness away from the pain wracking his body with pure force of will, impelling himself to disconnect from his body and focus on his surroundings, as if he was but a devicer and his body a knightmare frame—the only way he could achieve even a semblance of normal operation. _'Ok, I'm in my room, in bed, and my body is apparently intact…'_

So the exile confirmed visually, frowning as he confirmed that limbs had not been shredded in the collapse of the bridge, that his torso had not been perforated by numerous metal slugs, that he had not been shredded by the unearthly crimson gaze of the woman he had seen in his dream as, who, battered and bloody, had looked directly at him and uttered one word—

'_**Bend'**_

An involuntary shudder ran through his body as Lelouch remembered the aftermath, how his form had been twisted by unseen forces and shattered, thrown into the—

'_Wait a moment…'_

He frowned as something odd about that vision registered.

'_I wasn't standing on the bridge in that dream—the viewpoint was wrong for that,_' he thought, realization beginning to dawn as his intellect finally processed what had happened._ 'And I wasn't somewhere above…no, I _was _the bridge itself? Hmph…what happened in Shinjuku must still be bothering me if even my dreams are strange…'_

"Uuughhh…"

Another wave of nausea as images flashed through his mind, reminding him of the scenes of mass carnage and violence that he had been witness to just yesterday.

'_Bodies crammed together, blood spurting like a fountain—the red meat of sliced up humans packed tight, with_ _the beautiful figure of _Death_ dealing out brutal slaughter with merely a knife, staining even the darkness of the shadows a crimson hue…'_

"That's right…" the exile murmured to himself, focusing on the sound of his voice, a form of self hypnotism that the egoist was quite used to. "If there is something I should do, it is to obliterate Britannia! And for that…I have to at least get out of bed."

With some difficulty, he managed to do so, staggering from his bedroom to the bathroom, a wan smile crossing his face as he noted that a change of clothes had already been set aside for him by Sayoko, the maid that the Ashfords had hired to help take care of Nunnally.

'_Maybe a hot shower would help relax the pain away…'_ Lelouch thought, turning up the temperature of the water as it hissed down prettily. _'Then again…'_

_Fsh!_

But the moment he stepped under the spray of moisture, his focus shattered, as if the water itself was a stream of blades, gouging at the flesh as it rushed into his core, numbing the limbs as his body greedily sucking in the heat, demanding more more more more—

"Ha—guh, ha—guh… "

Sometime later, the exile found himself sprawled flat on the tub, his scrawny frame shuddering as spray from the showerhead relentlessly weathered away his skin, droplets traced hesitant furrows down the curve of his spine, though the pain had subsided to a more manageable level.

'_What…happened? When did I…'_

"Master Lelouch, are you alright?" came the concerned voice of Sayoko Shinozaki, who was becoming concerned, since the usually meticulous and methodical Lamperouge was taking an inordinate amount of time in the shower.

An experimental flex of muscles, accompanied by the cracking of his joints and back as the outcast prince got unsteadily to his feet, his shaking less pronounced.

'_It seems I am moving better than when I woke up …that damn witch and her contract. What the hell did she do to me? You call this pain a gift? I'm not a masochist, even if Milly treats me like one! Still, I need to at least go to breakfast if I don't want Nunnally to worry about me…'_

"I'll be out in a moment, Sayoko," the boy called out, as ever a consummate actor, as he'd needed to be for most of his life. "I just need to finish getting dressed."

"Very well, master Lelouch," the maid replied quietly, as her footsteps padded away. "Mistress Nunnally and your friend Miss C.C. await you in the dining room."

'_Miss C.C.?'_ the exiled prince thought, puzzled, as he dressed in one of the ever popular Ashford Academy student uniforms and walked out of the room, several minutes later. _'I don't know anyone with such a strange na—'_

"Good morning big brother," Nunnally said pleasantly, with the blind, handicapped little girl smiling up at her beloved caretaker.

"Good morning, Nunnally," Lelouch responded automatically, smiling slightly as he—

The exiled prince froze as his eyes caught sight of the mysterious Sorceress from Shinjuku, though she looked quite different from her fatigued and straitjacketed form, with the infuriating woman currently dressed in a madder red kimono, with her hair done up in an ornate French twist, sitting at the table and munching on a slice of pizza—obviously not her first, since platters upon platters of pizzas covered the table—specialty breakfast pizzas, greek pizza, curry pizzas, and even desert pizzas made with crepes, cream cheese, chocolate syrup, and a variety of fruit toppings—a display that made the prince's jaw drop.

"Good morning, Lelouch," spoke the First Magician, her voice dripping with mock hurt. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to join us today, and after I took the trouble to come visit in the morning."

Blink. Blink.

'_I'm still dreaming, right? Or maybe I've just gone delusional from the pain? Perhaps I took some medicine unknowingly and it is having hallucinogenic effects, since I was thinking about the witch a moment ago, or—'_

Sadly, none of these hypotheses were correct, and so the Witch took advantage of the tongue-tied moment to tease her poor contractor.

"What's wrong, Lelouch?" pressed the sardonic voice of the Grey Witch, lips curling up into a wicked smirk. "Are you really so happy to see me that you're speechless with shock? From the way you're looking at me, you'd think I'd died and come back to life or something."

'…_that is exactly what you did…'_

Lelouch fought the urge to facepalm, settling a heavy sigh and accusing stare as his eyes bored into the side of the witch's head, though the immortal shrugged it off, unaffected, as she simply kept on munching.

"A good morning to you too, C.C.," the exile greeted in turn, though his voice sounded a little forced, as it might when he had to deal with unpleasant formalities. "I'm…just surprised to see you here."

Which was not a lie, as he was indeed surprised, no, astounded to see the Grey Witch sitting at the table like a normal person, when he last remembered her standing amidst a pile of blood-soaked bodies, with an assassin in tow.

"Your friend certainly goes by such an unusual name, only her initials," Nunnally chimed in happily, as she took delicate bites out of a slice of crepe pizza. "Oh yes, that's right…Miss C.C. was just telling me all about the wonders of pizza as a food that's lasted through the ages, and she even took the trouble to bring a selection of foods."

'_That witch…she's corrupting my sister…' _Lelouch groused mentally, his tight focus threatening to slip in the face of this new irritation.

"How…very nice of you, C.C.," the raven haired prince said at last, more than a bit of venom in his voice as he walked over to the table and sat down gingerly on an available chair. "You certainty do make a habit of gifting things to people, don't you?"

"Of course, and sharing bits and pieces of information," the Grey Witch replied, her amber eyes seeming almost amused. "It's one of the few pleasures I have in life. Speaking of which…"

_Fsh!_

The hissing of ceramic on wood, as the immortal slid a cup of suspicious honey colored liquid over to the prince.

"Drink this," said the First Magician, smirking at him with relish. "It should help with any unpleasantness you may be feeling after yesterday. The first time is always the most difficult for anyone, after all, since you're not used to it yet."

Lelouch eyed the liquid strangely, but figured that the Witch probably knew what she was talking about, given that she had given him a gift with such—side effects. Thus, he quaffed the concoction, letting the bitter and surprisingly creamy substance slide down his throat, feeling marginally better afterwards.

'_A magic potion of sorts? As to be expected of a witch…'_

"Yesterday, then was she the reason you were late coming back last night, milord?" Sayoko asked, face impassive as ever, though the ninja maid's curious eyes belied her true feelings.

"Indeed," the Witch answered mischievously, before Lelouch could. "I suppose you might say that I was just showing him a few…magic tricks together with a friend of mine, and one thing just led to another."

"Is this 'friend' nearby?" the exile asked warily, getting the feeling that the blood-splattered Satsujinki wouldn't be too far away from the Witch's side. "She did mention meeting again, but not this soon."

"Why? Are you that eager to see her again?" the immortal teased viciously, quirking an eyebrow. "And here I thought it was me you ended up making a promise with."

Both of Nunnally's eyebrows shot up in surprise, as the blind little girl turned to face her beloved big brother.

"So Lelouch," the former Eleventh Princess of the Empire asked the prince. "Does that mean that C.C. is your girlfriend?"

A question that Lelouch was in no mood to deal with, given that most of his mental faculties focused on not collapsing from pain, all he could manage was: "Huh?"

Thus, the witch answered for him.

"Alas no, though he certainly wishes it were so," C.C. replied with a Cheshie grin, sharp amber eyes delighting in her contractor's unease. "Why, he even pledged himself to me the first time we met."

"Pledged…you mean…_marriage_?" Nunnally asked, stunned, unable to believe that her dear logical brother would be so flustered on a first meeting as to do something like that. Then again, she was unaware of the nature of the pledge, or what the first meeting had entailed, so this was understandable enough.

Of course, human instinct when confronted with unpleasant reality was a categorical denial, and that was exactly how Lelouch responded, proving that he was still human (and not a paperwork golem of sorts, like he rather thought Milly treated him).

"No! No, that isn't what she was talking about," Lelouch said, quite flustered by the innocent question. From anyone else, it would have been tolerable, but for little Nunnally to ask such a thing...! _'Ah, how do I explain this?' _"You do love to kid around, don't you, C.C.?"

"Oh really?" C.C. quipped, an expression of mock hurt on her face once more as she regarded the uneasy prince. "Then you were lying when you said that even if the world were to become my enemy, you would stay by my side?"

And therein lay the rub, that while the new fledged magus had not said so in those words precisely, that was essentially what the terms of his contract with the Witch stipulated—though he really wished that she had not said it in a manner that would no doubt invite misunderstandings.

'_Oh my__,_' Sayoko flushed on hearing those words. _'Master Lelouch is…quite gallant, isn't he? A promise like that—how very romantic, almost like a knight swearing his loyalty to a lady.'_

Inspiration hit, and the ninja maid suddenly knew what she would write for the next installment of her cell phone novel (a unique literary genre based off of text-messaging), for which her masters had been character models. Even a maid had to have a hobby now and then, ne? And an exciting love development would certainly raise her reader share…thus possibly leading to a publisher buying up the rights.

"That's…quite unexpected, big brother," Nunnally said at last, having somewhat recovered from her shock. "But I suppose love at first sight could well exist. They say that everything is possible, after all…"

Lelouch wanted nothing more at that moment than to drag the green-haired witch back to his room, where he could…ask the woman a few questions, but—

"Ah, look at the time," the Sorceress said, rising from her seat and heading out the door. "I'm afraid I have to be going—there's some urgent business that I need to take care of, as do you, _Lulu_. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nunnally, and you as well, Miss Sayoko."

With that, the witch was gone, having slipped from the clutches of the Black Prince, who, in lieu of banging his head on the table as he so wished to do, simply drained the potion in his hand to the dregs, hoping that the Sorceress had included headache medication in it.

'_Things are not working out according to my scenario….'_

And next would come the paperwork, the bane of his existence, the only certainty in the modern age, surpassing even death and taxes

* * *

**Student Council Clubhouse, Ashford Academy**

'_Truly, the universe is out to torment me,'_ thought a truly troubled Lelouch Lamperouge, as he stared at the mountain of paperwork before him, a stack which, like the Greek Hydra, seemed to grow larger and more vicious the more he hacked at it. _'Now why exactly did I join the Student Council again?'_

Well, that wasn't quite accurate, as the exiled prince knew why he had joined (at Milly's insistence / blackmail / massive amounts of guilt-tripping for all the trouble he had caused), and that he occasionally found it to be a pleasant diversion from things like overly clingy fangirls—but still, he did not enjoy being the workhorse of the group.

Numbers, figures, inconsistent tallies, budget charts—all swam before his eyes, seeming to laugh at him, taunt him—making his head throb, only adding to the pain he was experiencing, as if someone was ramming knives and metal rods through his skull, with his ongoing agony only exacerbated by—

"Man, can you believe it?" Student Council Secretary Rivalz Cardmonde asked, as those in the room were gathered around Nina's computer, which was displaying video footage of—

'_No…it can't…it can't be…'_

"—resulting in the collapse of the Tatara Bridge, one of the longest cable stayed bridges in the world," the news program reported, the screen showing the twisted and sunken remains of—

'_This bridge…it…this bridge…this bridge this bridge this bridge this bridge this…!'_

The exiled prince paled, freezing as the sight of the bridge from his "vision" of the night before, unable to get the rain-drenched figure of the woman on the bridge from his mind.

'_**bend.'**_

A flash of red.

**Pain, every nerve frayed, every bone splintering, body twisting, muscles cramping, cramping, cramping as everything overloads, goes haywire, breaks down, circuits linking to Akasha, overload overload overload as—**

'_No no no no no no no…!'_

_Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_

Of course, Student Council Milly Ashford, the rather attractive superior and childhood friend of Lelouch Lamperouge, had a notion of what might snap him out of his trance—by applying the time-honored techniques of the school of percussive maintenance (essentially to smack him over the head, repeatedly).

"Snap out of it, Lelouch!" the curvaceous blonde's rather insistent voice demanded, piercing through the mental fog with ease. "I know you're tired, but focus on the work!"

Jolted back to the reality before him, the raven-haired prince swallowed, forcing himself to put on the unflappably cool 'mask' for which he was known.

'_As violent and overboard as her methods can be, I guess I needed that.'_

"Alright, but you don't have to beat me up over it, do you?" Lelouch asked quietly, more subdued than usual, as if grateful for the distraction.

"An entire bridge, and all the people on it…" Nina whispered, aghast at the scene of devastation on her computer screen. "Did…Elevens really do all that…?"

Even saying the word "Eleven" scared her, so deeply ingrained was her xenophobia.

"Well, rumors did say that they released poison gas in Shinjuku yesterday," Rivalz added, grimacing at the thought. "Man, think about all those innocent people they killed…all those senseless murders…"

'_Poison gas, and no mention of the Viceroy's death…but why would they cover it up?'_

"Let's not jump to conclusions about the bridge," Milly admonished, waggling her finger. "After all, there was a violent storm around there last night, so maybe it was just a structural failure. As for what happened in Shinjuku yesterday, who can say?"

"Oh, speaking of yesterday, Lelouch," Rivalz groused, turning to the haggard looking Vice President. "What was up with ditching me?"

"It wasn't my fault, Rivalz, I fell into the truck when it sped away," the exile replied evenly, not exactly in a mood for more abuse, after the vision, C.C.'s visit, and this latest shock.

"N-no way, seriously?!" the excitable Secretary of the Student Council sputtered, eyes growing wide as he looked at the raven-haired prince, words coming out in a rush. "What happened? Where did you end up? Don't tell me you were abducted and taken to…"

"…nowhere pleasant," Lelouch answered, grimacing, as if he didn't want to recall those memories. "Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Thankfully, the one person in the room who everyone would listen to (this being the Student Council President, whose words could rouse the students of Ashford to action without any special powers) agreed with the Vice President, since there was work to be done—and plenty of it.

"Enough discussion, you guys!" Milly chimed in, her stern voice of command thankfully drawing the attention of the others back to the reason they were all gathered in this room. "Let's not get side tracked here. If we don't come up with a fix of the club activities budget, we won't have money left for anything at all."

Of course, not everyone was so easily convinced, one of these being Rivalz, who had accompanied Lelouch on his usual excursions for several purposes: for the sake of watching the nobles get their comeuppance, and also to get away from paperwork.

"You know, if that was the case, you should have told us about this mess a day ago!" the blue-haired Rivalz grumbled under his breath, annoyed by the situation in general. "Or maybe a day later, so that it would have been too late."

Had this been an anime, this would have likely earned him a round of sighs, as his comrades commiserated with him…however, given that it was reality, all he received was—

_Thwack!_

—a whack on the head, courtesy of Milly, who was taking her role of enforcing at least a modicum of discipline, and who did not take kindly to defeatism among her subordinates.

Seeing this new willingness to indulge in percussive therapy, Lelouch Lamperouge decided that it would probably be better to play along for now, or else the president might actually deal out grievous bodily (or psychological) harm in the name of motivation.

"Well then, let's get to work," Lelouch suggested, in an attempt to make peace, eyeing the stack of papers before him with trepidation. While he supposed he could get by with his brain on autopilot and still do a better job than most, he still found such administrative work unpleasant. Perhaps he'd crack a joke to liven up the atmosphere then? "Or at this rate, even your 'GUTS' spell won't do any good, Milly."

_Thwack! _

This time, it was Lelouch who earned a firm smack to the head with Milly's infamous roll of paper, which had thankfully not been reinforced by the wind magus.

"Don't doubt in my power!" the Ashford heir chastised the exiled prince, a strange look in her eyes as she waved the roll of paper threateningly at him. "With 'GUTS', we can do anything!"

'_Or close to it…it is the keyword to activate my magic circuit,'_ the magus of Ashford thought to herself, even as she continued to monitor the situation on campus. _'Hmm, so things are proceeding as the mysterious C.C. has foreseen, which reminds me….'_

"I agree!" Shirley chimed in, raising her hand supportively, with one of her naively saccharine smiles plastered across her face. "'GUTS' certainly always gets me going, Madame Prez!"

In the same way that it was a bad idea to wave a piece of raw meat in front of a ravenous wolf, it was also a bad idea to give Milly any opportunities for mischief, particularly with statements that could easily be taken to mean something other than was intended.

"Yes, you are rather nice and obedient, aren't you, Shirley?" the Student Council President noted with approval, straightening up to flash a sultry smirk at the younger girl, with hands on her hips emphasizing her curvaceous hourglass figure. "Not to mention supple and willing…just what I like."

Shirley, being nowhere as "advanced" as Milly in the subtle art (ok, the blatant art) of reading situations and making use of innuendos, missed the double meaning of the byplay completely.

"Of course, you've trained me well, Madame President," the orangette boasted, pumping her arm for emphasis, not realizing that someone with a dirty mind (say Milly…or Rivalz) could easily take the statements of the two for evidence of a sadomasochistic sexual relationship.

True to form, Rivalz took the opportunity to leer, as Milly just chuckled at the orangette's naïveté.

"What?" Shirley asked, blinking in confusion as she took in the strange looks.

"That's right…you're a ten," Milly added slyly, throwing gasoline on the fetish fuel bonfire, her gaze dropping to where the ample curves of Shirley's breasts bulged from beneath her school blazer. "From what I've seen in the girl's bathroom anyway…you've been filling out in all the right places, huh?"

Combined with an outright leer from the blonde, and a lecherous chuckle from Rivalz, even Shirley was capable of catching onto something this blatant, as the orangette gasped and tried to cover her chest with her arms.

"M-m-madame prez, wh- wh-what are you talking about, you perv?!" the orangette demanded, flushing violently. "Geez, our president's just a dirty old man, isn't she, sullying the meeting with her filthy mind?"

Everyone had a good laugh at that, even Milly herself, and thankfully, the work did not take as long as most of them thought it would, thanks to the presence of the official "Paperwork Golem" (also known as Lelouch), who worked precisely and mechanically, though his eyes were somewhat vacant, as if he was only partially there.

Still, at least the budget was balanced and the crisis resolved, meaning that there would be no need to hold another date auction using the members of the Student Council to raise additional funds—something that Lelouch remembered with horror, and Milly with amusement, since Lelouch (who had been auctioned off twice, both in his normal form and his Luluko form) had raised the most money during that event.

Sighing with relief, Rivalz, Nina, and Shirley slinked away, one by one, with Lelouch about to follow them out and retire to his room when—

"Lulu, we need to talk. Could you stay behind for a moment?" Milly asked of him, her eyes rather serious for once, as if there were indeed troubling matters she needed to discuss. Since the Student Council President was rarely disturbed to that degree, even the Black Prince took warning, quickly acquiescing, since staying was probably—no, definitely—in his best interests.

"Sure, Milly, what can I do for you?" the exile replied, curious as to what had even Milly on edge. It wasn't another arranged marriage, was it?

"There's a student in your class by the name of Kallen Stadtfeld," the Ashford heir began, looking out the window at the campus grounds. "Do you know her?"

"Only by name," Lelouch answered, furrowing his brow as he recalled an empty desk where that student normally sat. "She hasn't been here at school since this whole term started."

"Hm, just like you to know about everyone at school, second in that knowledge only to me," Milly murmured, a bit of wistfulness evident in her voice. "Anyway, with her poor health, grandfather thought she'd have a hard time with regular club activities, so my grandfather wants us to induct her into the student council."

"The principal's?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at this. It was curious, after all, for the principal to directly intervene in the lives of students. "So why are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought it would be best if you invited her," Milly replied simply, clasping her hands behind her back. "You are the school heartthrob, the famous ice prince of Ashford, after all."

"Heh, what can I say," Lelouch joked, trying to lighten the heavy mood. "It's almost like a curse."

A small chuckle from the curvaceous blonde, as Milly turned to face the exiled prince.

"How interesting that you should mention curses, Lelouch," the Student Council President said gravely. "Especially as I wanted to ask you what you thought about magic?"

'_What…magic?'_ Lelouch thought, now somewhat suspicious._ 'But how…?'_

When facing someone and uncertain as to the extent of their knowledge, disavowing all knowledge might be best.

"Hm, Milly, magic?" Lelouch scoffed, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he regarded his old friend. "Come now, that's just something found in fairy tales, isn't it, with witches, magicians, and that sort of thing."

A low and dangerous titter.

"Don't play dumb with me, Lelouch. How long have we known each other?" Milly sighed, her cold blue eyes boring into his violet, reminding him of when the Satsujinki had stared him down. "And though you're trying to hide it, I'll bet that right now your extremities feel numb, with your nerves burning in an otherwise cold body, right? You probably feel like knives are being stabbed into your back and chest, and haven't been able to sleep."

"Wha—?"

Lelouch took a step backwards in shock, reeling at the thought that someone knew exactly what was happening to him.

'_But…how…unless…'_

"And it's all happened since you came back from Shinjuku," the blonde stated with finality, narrowing her eyes at the prince. "Am I right?"

"Wait," the amateur magus said, his mind defaulting to his dialect of the Unified Language in his shock, as it was much closer to the root of all things than English. "I want you to answer my questions."

Hearing this, Milly straightened herself up to her full height, standing with the regal bearing of a noble.

"Of course, Magus of the House of Lamperouge," she answered evenly, waiting upon his queries. "Ask what you will of me."

First things first…

"How do you know about my condition?" the contractor inquired harshly, feeling very insecure that someone else knew what was happening to him—that he could so easily be read.

"It's a simple matter, since I can sense the overflowing mana in your magic circuit," Milly replied, looking straight ahead. "It was much the same when I first activated mine, years ago."

Lelouch's eyes widened at this, his jaw nearly dropping at the implications of this statement.

"So you… you're a magus?" the outcast prince asked incredulously. While he found this implausible, when the impossible was eliminated, all that remained was the truth.

"Correct," Milly affirmed, nodding once. "I am a magus of the Ashford Family, a lineage that has long been allied with the House of Lamperouge."

"I take it that there are other magic users in Britannia?" the exile inquired, following up on his query. "Why aren't they more common knowledge then?"

"Yes, there are other magic users in Britannia," the Ashford heir stated, voice inflectionless. "However, the existence of magic is generally considered a secret from the world."

"Then if it is a secret, why did you reveal yourself now?" Lelouch asked sharply, wanting to reconcile the information he had gleaned with her revelations. "Wouldn't this violate the code of secrecy?"

"As you were born into lineage of magi and your Magic Circuit has now become active, it is only proper for you to be informed of this world, so that you may be trained," the blonde answered to his objections. "No, perhaps it would be better to say it is necessary, as unless you learn to regulate your abilities and work your Magic Circuit properly, you are placing yourself and everyone around you in grave danger. As I am fond of you, I do not wish for you to die—or for you to endanger those around you."

"Danger?" the raven-haired princeling inquired sharply, wanting to know the details.

"Yes, in several ways," Milly replied, giving a basic summation of the situation. "As your Circuits have opened for the first time, it is likely that your nervous system has gone haywire due the sudden intake of energy—the fact that you have inherited part of your family's Thaumaturgical Crest only worsens matters, as the magic in that Crest is likely flowing back into your consciousness, which is dangerous because attempting to use magic beyond one's limits may lead to the frying of your entire nervous system, crippling—or killing you. A similar matter will ensue if you do not learn to switch off your circuit then necessary. In addition, since the death of Lady Marianne, the Holy Britannian Empire has hired Magus Killers to eliminate any magi not under the control of the Crown, which is part of the reason that the Ashfords moved to Area 11, to better avoid their sight."

"Oh, but isn't Ashford Academy a well-known facility for the education of young Britannians in Area 11?" Lelouch pressed, a little bewildered with these new bits of information, though they did make sense. "And what do you mean Magus Killers?"

"Magus Killers tend to be magic users who specialize in killing other magi, usually with the aid of technology. True, on one level Ashford Academy is a school, and is run as such—which makes it useful as a sanctuary, since it is generally against the practice of most magi to allow outsiders into their territory," the Ashford magus elaborated, compelled to do so by the power of the dialect of Unified Language. "This takes it off the list of suspected magi enclaves – though it is also protected by a bounded field specialized in concealing magical signatures, as well as a resident magus whose task is to safeguard the territory."

"You, in other words," the Black Prince surmised, lifting both eyebrows at the revelation. "How interesting…and how did you know about Shinjuku?"

"Quite simply, I encountered the one who awakened your circuit last night," Milly replied simply, face impassive under the thrall of the Unified Language dialect.

"I see," Lelouch said after a few moments of silence. "Thank you…that will be all."

The command finished, Milly was released from the trance as—

"Oh, and please forget that this conversation ever took place," Lelouch added, once again invoking his dialect of the Unified Language as he turned to go.

The exiled prince had just reached the door when he heard a voice call after him.

"Lelouch vi Britannia, former Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire, I order you to stop," the Ashford magus intones, her voice quiet, but angry all the same. "_Guts._"

"Hm?" the Black Prince asked, looking back, not realizing anything was off, as—

"_**Atlas."**_

A single word, and Lelouch found himself frozen in place by an overwhelming sense of danger, as the air around him seemed to solidify with a pulse of magical energy filled with enmity.

"What the—" the magus of Lamperouge whispered, only to be cut off by the low, biting tones of Milly's voice, as her gaze drilled into his back.

"You do realize that if you wanted answers, you could simply have asked, without using a spell of coercion, right, _magus_?" the blonde all but spat, as the pressure in the air increased and Lelouch's body screamed for him to run away—though he was unable to. "Normally, doing that to a fellow magus is an act of war—meaning that you are still alive after that for only two reasons – the first being that I do not wish to kill you, after you escaped the Magus Killers in Shinjuku, and the second that I made a contract with a certain person of your acquaintance to assist you."

'_So she didn't forget…?!' _Lelouch realized, but knew that it was too late to do anything about it. _'But I thought the power was supposed to be absolute…'_

"So you didn't…"

"No, I didn't forget our little conversation, Lulu," Milly continued, her blue eyes seeming to glow with an eerie golden light. "Even if the language of power you used to compel me affected my soul and left me unable to disobey, you should know that Magic Circuits provide some innate resistance to those sorts of spells. So your power will work once—but not a second time, at least not on a better than average magus, though a non-magus is different."

The air pressure increased still further, and the prince quivered at the murderous intent radiating from Milly's generally cheerful form, with the contrast between her usual state and now nothing less than terrifying. Fully aware of the discomfiture that she inspired, the Ashford heir decided to let her old friend stew for a few minutes, before—

"Since you are still an amateur, I will excuse your transgression if you agree to be trained, lest you become a danger to yourself and everyone around you," the blonde said at last, releasing the pressure in a rather magnanimous fashion. "If you don't…well, I can't guarantee your safety."

Hearing the note of warning in her voice, and remembering that there were few things in the world more dangerous than a woman scorned—or simply angry, Lelouch nodded.

"Very well then, though you should be careful, Lulu," Milly said, returning to a semblance of normality, though her tone was still cold. "If you don't control your magic, your magic will destroy you."

With that, Milly turned on her heel and left, leaving the amateur magus Lelouch rather intimidated by this near brush with death, his nervous system threatening to spiral out of control again.

'_Secrets within secrets…and my ability is not as absolute as I thought. It seems that I have no choice but to obey her, as my power is my only weapon against Britannina, and I don't even know how to use it…'_

* * *

**Classroom, Ashford Academy**

Following the rather harrowing events that occurred in the Student Council Clubroom, Lelouch had returned to his residence, intending to rest—only for Sayoko to hand him a thermos, saying that "Miss C.C." had left it behind for Lelouch's use, with instructions on how to take the medicine within. Resigning himself to the fact that he would apparently be in the Witch's care for a time, the raven-haired prince gratefully accepted it—noting that he did feel less like death after two glasses of the substance, his Circuits calming down slightly, allowing him to concentrate.

'_So the Witch did know what would happen, and judging by the conversation with Milly, she is planning on assisting me. If I think about what happened yesterday clearly, the Witch mentioned that the condition of my receiving power was to ally with her in a war. And given the evidence of her actions, it seems she has a grudge against Britannia.'_

Speaking of which, it seemed that the Ashford family had something to hide from Britannia as well—and that as a newly-awakened magus, Lelouch was now in danger from a great number of factors.

'_Seeing as this is the case, it would be best not to anger Milly anymore then, since I need allies, and someone to train me, lest I attract the attention of magus killers—or fry my nervous system.'_

A taste of which he had already experienced.

Thus it was that Lelouch decided to actually attend classes for the first time in a while, in an attempt to build up the goodwill that he would surely need to survive the coming confrontations—and to confirm a suspicion or two, as he dragged his unfit self across the campus, huffing and puffing over to the classroom, arriving just in time for a break between classes.

_Thud!_

The prince plopped himself heavily into his assigned seat, looking around the classroom for any—

'_Ah, so that's why the redheaded terrorist looked familiar…'_ the magus realized, as he caught sight of a certain half-Britannian resistance fighter. Granted, the girl's red hair was worn loose and straight today, as opposed to her shorter, spikier hairdo held up with a headband that indicated her terrorist persona, but Lelouch remembered that face well, if only because as an ill girl, she was an abnormality.

'_And her right hand is wrapped in bandages…'_

"—Baroness Kallen Stadtfeld?" Lelouch mumbled to himself, recognizing the person as the terrorist from the truck in Shinjuku…as well as the Glasgow pilot. "What a surprise…but then, we all have our secrets, don't we?"

Casually, ever so casually, the exiled prince continued surveying the room for any abnormalities, though his momentary glance at Kallen had been noted by Rivalz, who had a tendency to read too much into these actions, given that the Student Council Secretary staunchly believed that Lelouch tried to womanize in his spare time.

"What's up, buddy? See something you like?" the fellow Student Council Member veritably chirped, leaning over the prince's shoulder. "You've got a thing for her, don't ya?"

For all that Rivalz could be an amusing character, Lelouch did wish that his overly-energetic friend would learn how to be a tad bit circumspect—though he did envy his friend's ability to see life through such a common point of view…

"Just thinking this a rare event to see her at school," the exile answered smoothly, a statement that was completely true, just not all of the truth. "Especially since she hasn't been here at school since this whole term started."

'_I imagine that she's probably been off conducting raids for the Japanese Resistance…'_

"Kallen Stadtfeld," Rivalz murmured, as if looking up the name in his mental catalogue of attractive and desirable women. "They say she's sick or something, and she barely showed up at school last year either. Still, her grades are at the top of the class, and she's a member of the Stadtfeld family, which means she's well-bred and rolling in money. Man, you sure know how to pick 'em."

Now why was it that Rivalz thought that the exile asking about a girl meant that he was interested in her romantically? Was it his reputation as the school's idol, who girls flocked to be around, especially when he was made the center of strange holiday events by a certain Milly Ashford? Was it envy that Rivalz himself never became the center of attention?

'_Alas, as I've said and explained, it must be a curse…' _Lelouch thought to himself, wondering if it was possible to have a level of charisma that was indeed a curse. _'At least it seems so, when rabid fangirls come after me in droves during Milly's events…'_

_Swish!_

But something distracted the outcast prince, as out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of blue, though when he turned his head to look, there was nothing.

'_How odd…wait a minute, if the Witch is around, then that means…'_

"…there's an…an Eleven here at school?" Nina asked, terrified almost to the point of tears, hands clamped to the sides of her head as she wondered what she was going to do.

"Well, half-Eleven, and she works for the Ashford family as a part time teaching assistant, so she can't be too bad right?" Shirley voiced optimistically, patting the frightened girl on the shoulder.

"I know," Nina replied, shaking. "... but still all the same…"

"Well she didn't look all that scary to me, when I passed her in the halls," Shirley said, in an attempt to reassure the braided glasses-girl. "So don't be shy, it's not like she's a bloodthirsty killer or anything."

A particularly ironic statement, given that the literal translation of 'Satsujinki' _was_ 'bloodthirsty killer', and that the last time Lelouch had seen said 'Eleven', it was standing over a mound of bloody corpses.

Over in the corner, Kallen Kozuki looked over, curious as to the mentions of a Japanese person on campus, while her "friends" reassured her that it was probably nothing to worry about.

'_If only you knew who you were talking to,'_ Kallen thought, both frustrated and amused, though she wondered who the other Half-Japanese person was to have gotten access to campus in a non-service capacity. _'This new Japanese girl…I wonder who she's collaborating with to be able to work at this school, and not as a maid or something, especially if she's not a noble…'_

"Rivalz, do you know anything about the new girl—the teaching assistant?" Lelouch inquired, knowing that while he himself knew facts, Rivalz was a master of rumors and hearsay (and of course, rumors were the only things faster than light, after all).

"Oh ho ho," Rivalz snickered, looking over at Lelouch with a knowing leer. "So I see, I see. It's the mysterious ones you're after, looking to strike before anyone else has a chance. Oh ho ho ho…sorry, buddy, but I don't know much about her. Still, if you want to know more about Kallen…"

"It's not like that," Lelouch denied indifferently, remembering that too strong of a denial tended not to be believed. "Milly asked me to invite her to join the Student Council."

"Aah, I see, Prez is playing matchmaker again," Rivalz rejoined, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You don't have to hide your attraction, though man…I guess you do like the sheltered and submissive ones."

'_Sheltered and submissive?'_ the prince scoffed in his head, incredulous. Only the potion he had downed kept his emotions from running out of control again, as would be so easy when Circuits were haywire. _'Somehow, I don't think a Knightmare piloting terrorist could be considered sheltered…or submissive to anyone.'_

He kept thinking, checking out a couple of things on his laptop until lunchtime rolled around, with the exile fully intending to go after Kallen and deliver the message from Milly, when—

"So, we meet again, L.L.," an amused voice spoke to him, with Lelouch looking over to find the Satsujinki Mana Ryougi standing in the shadows wearing a dark blue kimono with a red bomber jacket, leaning against a wall as she regarded the world with unnaturally blue eyes, twirling a penknife between her fingers. "I will say that your school is quite an interesting place."

"…and what exactly are you doing here?" Lelouch asked the assassin, careful to keep his tones calm and measured so as not to provoke the girl. "Wait, let me guess…it has to do with a contract or two?"

A clear laugh like the sound of tinkling bells.

"Not a bad guess for a beginner," Mana replied, giving the prince a very faint smile, tossing her hair. "Though the witch did say your mind was sharp. But I believe I interrupted you, so I'll let you return to your task. We will meet again soon enough, magus."

With that, the Sataujinki gave the prince a slight nod, before straightening and walking away, her form vanishing into the halls of Ashford Academy, leaving the contractor to his own devices.

'_What an odd girl…'_ he thought to himself, wondering what the presence of the Witch and assassin on campus would mean for him and his plans. The existence of magic and other magi already put a bit of a crimp in those, so… _'For now, I may as well deal with Miss Stadtfeld…'_

So the exile waited for an opportunity to catch his target alone and unawares, since people tended to be weak against ambushes when isolated from their allies. Fortunately, he did not have to wait long, as a bee buzzed into Kallen's lunch circle, scattering the girls escorting her to the four corners of the school.

'_And now the conditions have been cleared…'_

Now, one of Kallen's greatest strength was a razor-sharp focus, which was excellent in battles against a single opponent—as she capably demonstrated here in fighting against a bee, hands moving more quickly than—

_Whoosh!_

—with a spark and emission of smoke, the bee caught fire and burned to ashes, as Lelouch looked on from concealment, rubbing his chain.

'_There's no question, the terrorist was Kallen Stadtfeld,' _he confirmed, noting that not only her looks and her actions had matched the girl from Shinjuku exactly. _'However, to ask for more information would be difficult, as not using my ability would probably end in bodily harm, and using my ability would be risky, as my power apparently does not cause a subject to forget what was done under the effects of "hypnosis", as my encounter with Milly demonstrated. And of course, it only for certain once per person…'_

True, Milly did mention that his hypnosis ability might be usable more than once on a non-magus, but after seeing the minor display of fire magic, Lelouch was not about to take any chances.

'_And aside from my magic, which I don't have under control yet, I have no weapons, so in this case, discretion is almost certainly the better part of valor. In addition, surprising her too badly might lead to a flaming punch to the face, and since my body is already unstable at the moment …'_

_Clip._

A deliberately loud footstep to announce his presence, as Kallen turned, stifling a curse at someone having seen her break her masquerade, blue eyes looking into purple.

Instantly, the girl put on her façade of weakness, but it was already too late – Lelouch vi Britannia had seen it all.

"Can I help you or something?" she asked pleasantly enough, though her frame was tense, and her eyes seemed trapped, those of a desperate animal searching for a way to escape this situation. _'This is bad…what if he spreads it around that I'm not really an invalid?'_

"Miss Stadtfeld," the exiled prince greeted the red-headed girl politely, as the role of a gracious gentleman was one he knew how to play quite well, having spent some of his life in the den of vipers known as the Imperial Court. "My name is Lelouch Lamperouge, the Vice President of Ashford Academy's Student Council. It is a rare pleasure to have you grace Ashford with your presence."

"W-what?!" Kallen stammered in shock, wondering just what on earth this 'Lelouch' was playing at as he smiled at her. She knew full well that the _'Ice Prince'_ was the object of affection for more than half the girls at Ashford, but if he was turning his attentions onto her…

'_I already have to reject enough slobbering idiots as it is,'_ she grimaced inwardly, taking care not to let it show on her face. _'Half of which think dating me will bring up their prestige, because of my family name, even with my sickly façade…its disgusting…'_

"As for why I'm here…on behalf of the entire Student Council, I'm here to invite you to join us," the raven-haired boy clarified, smiling in that disturbingly serene manner of his. "As you know, everyone at Ashford is required to participate in at least one extracurricular activity, and since we heard that your condition makes it difficult for you to participate in normal extra-curricular activities, we thought, why not the Student Council?"

'_I really don't have time for this Britannian high school life nonsense…' _Kallen thought to herself, wondering just how in the world she would manage to get out of this one. Her Britannian student persona was supposedly weak-willed, wanting nothing more than to be able to participate as best she could and not inconvenience anyone, so she had no valid reason to decline. _'This will be tricky.'_

"U-um…that's nice of you and all…" the redhead began, doing her best to look demure. "But I really don't think that—"

"Nonsense," the heartthrob of Ashford Academy cut in, dismissing her concerns with a wave of his hand and a charming smile. "In spite of your prolonged absences, you manage to have the best grades in class, so we know you work quite hard, ability that would be most welcome. Wouldn't you like a chance to make some more friends at school?"

'_If nothing else, it will divert some of the burden of paperwork from my own shoulders…hmm, and now to lead the lamb to the slaughter…'_

"Besides, it would be good experience, since the Student Council has a finger on the pulse of Ashford Academy with access to almost everything on campus," the Vice President said warmly, letting a twinkle of amusement reach his eyes. "Events, festivals, the school itself…except for the staff, we pretty much run the place."

This last bit the exile managed to spin with a slight tinge of embarrassment, as if it was troubling to admit that the Student Council had so much power, when in reality, all that troubled him about it was how Milly wielded that power (usually with him as the butt of an extended joke) and how he was the one who had to work behind the scenes to prop up her tyrannical rule.

"Really?" Kallen wondered aloud, picking up on the implications of membership in the Student Council. _'An organization where sickness wouldn't be questioned, with access to most of the school—or off the school, when needed… I can really use this to my advantage…' _"I'll give it a shot, I guess."

"Wonderful," Lelouch answered, clapping his hands, as if grateful for her acceptance. This would certainly give him a chance to better monitor her movements, and to evaluate if she could be turned to his side.

"Lelouch, don't forget to come over to the clubhouse," Milly's enthusiastic voice interrupted, with the blonde leaning out a window. "It isn't polite to make a lady wait, you know."

_Gulp!_

At that, Lelouch's face contorted into its famous 'Oh Crap' expression—one that he wore all too often, since the demon Murphy often decided to use him as a plaything.

"Ah, that's right, the President had something urgent to discuss with me!" he said out loud, so as to hopefully dispel any notion in Kallen's head that he might be the playboy of Ashford Academy. "Anyway, come to the clubhouse tomorrow after school, and we'll have your welcome party then."

With that, the boy's untrained body dashed off with what little speed he could manage, leaving Kallen mildly curious about him, but rather more worried that he had seen through her little farce.

* * *

**C.C.'s ****Atelier**, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy

As was appropriate for a compound created by a lineage of magi, the structures of Ashford Academy visible from the surface were but a fraction of the actual available facilities, the access way to a vast underground complex that dwarfed the actual school in size. Some of this area, of course, was used for utilities and the security system, but the rest…

"You're late," Mana stated flatly, straightening as her cold eyes regarded Milly and Lelouch. The two had just stepped out of the lift into one of the secret "workshop" levels of Ashford, to discover a somewhat irritated Satsujinki lying in wait. "It should not take this long for an average human to cross the campus."

"Don't look at me," Milly replied, pointing her finger at the panting figure of Lelouch. "It's this guy who keeps skipping PE Classes to go gambling."

The Satsujinki sighed in disapproval.

"How troublesome…if he is caught in combat with a magus, I wonder if he'll even be able to defend himself," the raven-haired assassin said with a trace of annoyance. "Well then, as his senior, you will just have to remove the laziness from him by force."

"That much I look forward to," Milly answered with a predatory smile, as she looked over at a somewhat disturbed Lelouch, who did not at all like where the conversation was going. "It will be interesting to train the squishiness out of this squishy wizard."

"If you can, that is," Mana rejoined with a sniff, glancing askance at the rather unfit exiled prince. "Something tells me he's never going to be a master at combat--and that's putting it mildly."

"So…you two know each other?" the exiled prince hazarded, somewhat ill at ease from being in the presence of two people who could likely kill him in a heartbeat, if it came down to it.

"As a magus of Ashford, of course I would know about any additional people on campus, particularly any that have skill with magic or related arts," the Student Council President said simply. "I met her last night, after the bounded field detected the intrusion of an individual who you apparently know well."

"Met…does that mean fought?" Lelouch inquired, his mind putting together conclusions from the bits of information he had already gleaned, given the nature of the assassin and that of his childhood friend. "Who won?"

A dead silence, as the question was ignored, though even an amateur like Lelouch could feel the ominous feeling of danger emitting from Milly as she turned to him with a false smile, while Mana only raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really want to know, Lulu?" she asked, all the while emitting waves of overwhelming enmity that made the prince fear for his life—the same feeling as he had had in the clubroom. "I mean, I've already explained more than enough to you so far, right?"

"Ah, on second thought, that's not important," the newly-fledged magus retracted hastily, before any bodily harm could come his way. Now that he thought about it, it might be a bad idea to try to press Milly for any information she was unwilling to give after his use of the Unified Language.

'_Is this what the Japanese would call a yandere…or yangire?'_ he thought, remembering what he had learned of the culture—and how one of the more common tropes was to have someone who was sweet and charming on one level—and utterly psychotic on another. _'Then again, the Witch mentioned that magi were slightly different than normal people so…'_

"So what is your name then?" the outcast prince asked of the Satsujinki. "Since you already know mine, you have me at a disadvantage."

"It's Mana," the Ryougi replied. "Mana Ryougi, though in the field, you will refer to me as Kokutou."

"Cocteau?" Lelouch asked curiously, remembering the name of a French poet that had experimented with the human voice. "As in Jean Cocteau?"

"Close enough," the assassin said without looking back. The pronunciation of the two names were nigh identical, after all.

_Clang! Clash!_

The sound of weapons crashing together echoed in the distance, growing louder and louder as the trio made their way to their destination, though the assassin seemed oddly disaffected by the cacophony of battle, as if it was something she was quite used to.

After several minutes, the sounds of conflict ceased, and the corridor opened to reveal a massive chamber ringed by artificial waterfalls, with a ring of runes bounding the entrances and exits, and a certain Grey Witch lounging on a beanbag couch, munching on slices of pizza, attended to by what seemed to be a maid.

'_Wait, that's not Sayoko…is that…'_

"Interesting…so she's a puppetmaster as well," Milly murmured, her gaze noting that the "maid" in question was actually an automated "magic doll". "And quite a skilled one, at that…though I wonder where she obtained the materials to create her this mechanical servant…."

'_Perhaps she transported them with her? Certainly not projection, as anything created by Gradation Air fades within minutes…'_

"So you've arrived, just as I finish my daily training," the green-haired witch noted, looking up languidly at the sound of footsteps. "I deem these subterranean quarters and workshop…acceptable. Better than I expected, in fact."

"I'm flattered you think so," Milly rejoined, meeting the Sorceress' gaze evenly. "It was originally intended as a hideaway for more magi than simply me, but—"

"They were caught in the purge, weren't they?" C.C. asked, speaking as if she already knew their fates.

"Yes," the blonde replied diffidently. "But as to the reason we came here…are you going to do it, or shall I? You are more experienced, after all?"

"Naturally," the Witch answered dryly, making no move to get up. "But he knows you better, right? And I'm sure he'd feel more comfortable in the hands of a close friend rather than someone like me, especially for his first time, since he's a few hundred years too early to deal with my…advanced techniques."

"Alright, I suppose I can be the one to break him in," Milly stated, a sly smile crossing her lips as she looked at the prince with her predatory gaze. "After all, he should take responsibility for violating me earlier."

"Very well then, I'll be right over here if you need me," C.C. said with a smirk, holding back a chuckle as she bit into a slice of yet another platter of pizza, with more stacked up besides her – Thai Green Chicken Curry pizza, Peking Duck pizza, and several desert crepe pizzas custom made by the "Mech Sayoko." "I do prefer to watch, after all. Mana, take one of the magic dolls and practice in one of the other rooms, if you would. Do try not to destroy it, if you would—it takes a lot of effort to create one of those."

"Very well, witch. I will…try," the Satsujinki replied, nodding deferentially as she walked off to another training hall, with a "Mech Sayoko" following after, as the sounds of battle started up once more.

_Clash! Clang! Crash!_

Left alone with two magi, Lelouch swallowed nervously as he looked between the Witch and the Ashford Magus, hoping that the conversation was not what it sounded like, since he had come here for _training_, right?

"Well, what are you waiting for, boy?" the Grey Witch inquired, seeing her contractor just standing in the entry way, unsure of what to do. "Walk to the middle of the room and lie down. It will be easier that way, since I doubt you'll stay standing when Ashford is through with you, not with your body raging out of control as it is."

"Very well," the exile said gingerly, doing as he was told and resting his back on the cold metal of the floor, with Milly stripping off the tie and jacket of her uniform as she knelt down beside him, intoning a single word—

"_Guts."_

—causing an intricate and heretofore unseen design running down her left arm from shoulder to hand to light up, as her Thaumaturgical Crest was infused with magical energy.

"Fufufu," the blonde chuckled throatily. "So in the end, it seems that you stay my subordinate, no matter what happens."

"So it would seem, Milly," the outcast prince conceded, as Milly placed her hands upon his forehead and—

"Auuughhh!"

—the pain that had been suppressed by C.C.'s potion flared up once again, as if a wave of blades were surging through his magic circuits, white hot needles gouging into his brain, his limbs, his guts. Such was only to be expected when the effect of the regulating potion was nullified, as—

"Focus on the sound of my voice, Lelouch," Milly ordered, her soft touch the only thing keeping Lelouch from losing himself in mindless agony. "Focus yourself and shake off your idle thoughts, almost as if you were playing a game of chess."

"A…ok," the prince panted, back arching in unadulterated anguish, as the magical energy spun out of contro—

"Picture the circuits running through your body, visualizing them however you see fit," came the next order, with the Black Prince forcing himself to stay conscious, applying the might of his superior intellect to the task at hand.

'_A blueprint of the body, with channels of light running through the darkness, corresponding to blood vessels or nerves, with power overflowing overflowing overflowing—'_

"Find the source of this flow," Milly's voice whispered in his mind, her hands tracing the length of glowing lines on his body, as the prince felt himself grow hot, with the heat and pressure inside his core burning burning burning, howling for release of some sort.

'_This feeling…'_

It was the same as that which he had experienced in Shinjuku, after he called upon the forbidden knowledge conferred by the contract, yet—

'…_it's not quite like that this time, as something is guiding me through the torrents of energy…'_

"Your family's specialty in magecraft is consciousness transference," the soft voice continued, with the prince's consciousness clinging to that like a drowning man to a rescue rope. "The basics of it should have been engraved in your Thaumaturgical Crest, and with the overloading of your circuits, I wouldn't be surprised if you've already used it unconsciously. So tell me, what did your magic show you?"

Compelled by the sound of her voice, the image of a collapsed bridge appeared, with a Japanese woman with glowing red eyes voicing a word—

'_**Bend**__'_

"…Tatara," the exile gasped out, the full scope of the vision laid bare in his mind. "Soldiers chasing a girl, a violent storm, collapse…_**bend**_…cables flying…a cat…"

"A cat?" Milly's soft voice pressed, wondering why one would be out in the middle of a storm.

"A black cat with red eyes," he dutifully reported, seeing from every angle afforded by the remains of that bridge. "Approaching the girl in the aftermath of the collapse."

'_A black cat with—that's one of _his_ familiars,_' C.C. thought, with the Witch frowning slightly as she heard the contractor's report. _'I wonder what the Old Man wants? Though as suspected, the bridge incident was the doing of Asagami Fujino, with the psychic trying to escape Britannian forces. It seems that the Magus Killers after those psychics involved with the Demon Hunter Organization as well as mages…' _

Projecting your consciousness to such a distant location that you are unfamiliar with…" Milly murmured, somewhat impressed. "It is unusual to do so well your first time accessing the Crest, particularly without any basic training. Still, your consciousness should now have dissociated from your body to reside within the Magic Crest, correct?"

"This is so," was the response.

"Then open your mind and relax," the voice of the Ashford Magus whispered, as her fingers traced the pattern of Lelouch's Crest, which had been engraved onto his torso. "Let me guide you…"

'_I'm…melting into her,' _Lelouch thought, feeling another mind brush against his, as his consciousness was drawn out of his body, guided by the blonde to various places around Ashford that she had a connection with. _'Now…I'm in the waterfall? I am my chair in the classroom.'_

Such alien perspectives, lingering for a few minutes each, so his body could get used to the magical energy being used, not just building up, showing him—

_The lawn, where he was every blade of grass, staring up at the sky, feeling every sensation as students walked past._

_The boundary wall of Ashford Academy, looking out at Tokyo Settlement in all directions._

_The pool, where he was the water itself, feeling almost ticklish as the members of the swim club did their laps, with him aware of every movement within._

_The slice of pizza that C.C. was devouring, becoming very much aware of the Witch from an up close and personal viewpoint, as she bit into the pizza._

_The girls' changing room as—_

"See, isn't Shirley a ten?" came Milly's teasing voice, as Lelouch's consciousness reeled, pulled back to his flesh and blood body by sudden stimulation. Then the voice spoke again. "Now, once again, picture the blueprint of your body."

_Begin projection._

Obeying, a map of Lelouch's body materialized in the prince's mind, with diagramming the material, shape, the conduits of magical energy, all branching out from a single source—the overactive Crest, which had been depleted of some of its mana now.

"Envision the control mechanism, an image that resonates with the surging mana. Staunch the flow, trigger off."

An image of floodgates around the reservoir of mana.

'_Five gates revolving. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.'_

His breathing calmed, the severity of the pain fading to a manageable soreness as feeling returned, and Lelouch Lamperouge opened his eyes to find himself lying on the ground once more, exhausted by his efforts.

"That was…" the outcast prince began, but was unable to continue, as a wave of drowsiness overtook him, with the exile struggling just to remain awake, his body beginning to devote its resources to healing his burned out nerves.

"Not bad for a rank amateur, though you do have a tendency to do well when you apply yourself," Milly murmured, giving the exile a faint smile. "You have now learned the most vital lesson for a magus: how to control your magic circuit, as well as the basics of dissociating your consciousness for your family's magic."

And with that, Lelouch closed his eyes, falling deep into a trance of healing sleep, with Milly rising from her kneeling stance and walking over to C.C.

"His level of mana was higher than expected," Milly remarked, as she plopped down next to the Grey Witch, grabbing a slice of pizza from one of the platters. "He seems to be able to drain it from his surroundings instinctively, in addition to seeing from those viewpoints."

"No surprise there, as his elemental affinities include Earth and Water, and transference of consciousness was developed from the older specialty of 'transference of power'," the Witch replied, choosing to ignore the poaching of her favorite food. "You did well for your first time instructing another magus."

"Just doing my job," the Ashford magus answered, taking a tentative bite into the pizza, only for her eyes to widen at the taste. "This is actually pretty good."

"Of course…convenient way to replenish mana too, after all I used up in combat the other day," C.C. commented dryly, eying the downed figure of the Lamperouge magus. "It is rather messy than blood sacrifices or tantric rites, at any rate, and more efficient than sleeping, which I can't afford to do much of."

"Exactly what is your magical energy capacity, anyway?" Milly asked, curious, as the Witch had already consumed far more than needed for an average magus.

"I'm afraid that's a secret."

From the other room, the sounds of battle ceased, with a battered Mech Sayoko and a relatively uninjured Mana Ryougi emerging to look at the scene.

"So, L.L. has finished his training for the day?" the Satsujinki asked, raising an eyebrow at the scene. "Well, how was he?"

"Better than expected, according to the Ashford magus," C.C. replied with an eloquent shrug. "At least he has his Magic Circuits under control, so he can leave campus without automatically becoming a target. Mind taking him back to his room so he can sleep off the injuries?"

"Only if I get my promised strawberry ice cream out of it…" Mana rejoined, pouting as she looked at the Sorceress. "I still haven't gotten my due."

"Would you settle for a strawberry desert crepe?" the Grey Witch inquired, gesturing at the untouched platter of desert pizza.

"For now, I suppose," the assassin replied grudgingly, reaching down and picking up Lelouch in a "princess cradle," seeing the exile in a strange light. "You know, from this angle, he does look rather feminine."

"Indeed," C.C. said dryly, the corners of her lips curling up in a satisfied smirk. "It's a shame I don't have a Kaleidostick handy, or it would be interesting to see an alternate version of him would be."

Hearing the dreaded word 'Kaleidostick', the Satsujinki twitched, violently.

"After the Broomstick Girl Magical Amber incident?" Mana stated flatly, taking a step back in what passed for shock. "I think not. We'd probably have a rampaging Magical Miracle Meido Luluko or something of the sort on our hands."

Milly, who always enjoyed making Lelouch dress up in strange costumes (or simply making him cross-dress), pictured this for a moment and burst out laughing, a sound that would most certainly make most of the Student Council shudder with fear, if they knew what was going through the mind of their President at that moment.

"Fufufufufu…," the blonde murmured, a sly smirk crossing her features. "I think I have an idea for the next Student Council Activity."

_

* * *

_

**Student Council Clubhouse, Ashford Academy**

The day after her unexpected encounter with the Student Council's Vice President, part-time terrorist Kallen Kozuki found herself standing on the roof of the school, making a phone call to Kaname Ohgi, the leader of her resistance cell, with the man warning her to stay in her student role for now, as the military was on high-alert after the Shinjuku fiasco.

"But campus life is stifling," the young freedom fighter complained, her eyes narrowing as she remembered the new wave of idiots who had come to hit on her—which she had had to reject one by one, while resisting the urge to smash their faces in. "And what about the voice on the radio? Someone had to have arranged that ceasefire…"

She didn't have any idea who the voice might belong to, and that concerned her, as this mysterious benefactor was an unknown quantity, a rogue element that couldn't easily be understood—that might even betray them to Britannia at the next opportunity. Known variables were easy enough to account for, but an unknown—dealing with an unknown was one of the fastest ways to end up well and utterly screwed.

"You can't go looking for a voice, Kallen," Ohgi chided, trying to play the role of a surrogate big brother. "Besides, Naoto would be happy to see you back in school. Forget about Shinjuku for now…I'll be in touch."

With that, he hung up, leaving Kallen feeling rather discontented as she stared at the cell phone.

"Meh, I guess he's right, but…"

'_I think that Lelouch Lamperouge saw through my frail girl façade, which is not good…if he spreads it around to others that I'm not as weak as I make myself out to be, then I'll have a major problem on my hands,'_ the redhead thought, wondering if there was anything she could do to keep the boy from talking about it. _'I'll have to see what he wants, I guess…'_

Maybe he would turn out to be as apathetic as the rumors said, the lazy, intellectual rake that cared only for flirtation, skipping class at every turn.

_Clip-clip-clip!_

Kallen turned with a start, as another presence made its way to the roof of the school—eyes widening ever so slightly as her gaze fell upon the figure of the much rumored "Mana Cocteau," the other "half-Britannian" girl at Ashford Academy, a figure wearing a blouse and skirt combination of dark purple and black, complemented with thigh high socks that accented her legs.

'_Though from her appearance, I'd say that she was closer to fully Japanese, not just half,'_ the terrorist thought, studying this new arrival's body language. _'Confident, with an air of sharpness around her, like a drawn blade—I wonder if she's in the same line of work I am?'_

"So you are the famous Kallen Stadtfeld," the Satsujinki said, looking over the redhead's supple form with eyes of unearthly blue, noting her observations with a small harrumph.

"And you must be Mana Cocteau," Kallen replied demurely, taking pains to act as though she truly were a frail invalid. "I have to say you've caused quite a stir after just one day at Ashford."

"I do not set much into motion," Mana shrugged diffidently, walking to the railing to look out over the school grounds. "Rather I observe and react as plans unfold, thus not causing a stir, while still being the center."

"You're certainly an odd one," the part time terrorist observed, though Mana reacted not at all. "So what brings you up here?"

"The same might be said of you," the assassin answered softly, arching one slender eyebrow. "As for why I am here, who can say?"

_R-r-ring!_

As much as Kallen would have liked to stay and talk to the girl on the roof, the bell rang, signaling the five minute warning that classes were about to begin.

"Sorry, I have to get to class," the redhead sighed, taking the bell as the excuse to leave.

"Very well, you'd best be off to play your role," the Satsujinki murmured after her, as if slightly amused. "Don't forget to go to the Student Council Clubhouse today."

A rustle in the wind, and a _whirr, _as if something had slashed through air.

"Wha—" Kallen whispered, turning around to find herself alone on the roof, as if no one else had been present in the first place.

'_Eh? But wasn't she just standing there, away from the only exit?' _the redhead thought, confused by this turn of events. _'I was sure that…oh nevermind, there's probably another exit or way down that I don't know about.'_

Shaking her head, the part-time freedom fighter sighed, resigning herself to having to face another day of dull history classes, as well as the presence of the notorious playboy of Ashford, whose cold, almost arrogant attitude frankly pissed her off.

Strangely enough though, Lelouch Lamperouge was not present, leaving Kallen wondering what the Vice President was up to. She supposed that the boy could be overseeing arrangements for her welcome party, though the background chatter in the classroom seemed to indicate that the 'Ice Prince' had come down with some ailment and was sleeping it off.

'_Heh…if true, then it's funny that he should come down with a real ailment when I finally return to school,'_ Kallen mused, rather amused by this turn of events. _'Though I wonder what the induction to the Student Council will be like…'_

_R-r-ring!_

Eventually class finally came to an end, much to Kallen's relief, but just as she was about to leave the room, she was accosted by the perky orangette named Shirley Fenette, who was also on the Student Council, if Kallen recalled correctly.

"Hi there," Shirley greeted the "ill girl." "I'm Shirley, from the Student Council. Since Lelouch is out sick today, the Student Council President asked me to escort you to the clubhouse, since it's a little out of the way."

Gratefully accepting the guidance of her senior on the Council, Kallen allowed herself to be led through the campus, walking through the elegantly landscaped grounds of campus to their destination: a lavish building that served as a reminder of the Student Council's power and prominence on campus.

'_That Lelouch wasn't lying when he mentioned the Student Council's power, was he? Forget a clubhouse…this is basically another wing of the school, or the entire Stadtfeld manor!'_

"I didn't even know this place existed," she said out loud, voicing her thoughts as she studied the rather grand building. "Is this…?"

"Yes, this is the Student Council's clubhouse," Shirley informed her, excitement in her voice as she remembered some of the old events that the group had put on over the years. "They built it as a ballroom for various special occasions."

'_And the Student Council just requisitioned it without anyone putting up a fuss? How interesting…but I wonder if its only because the President of the Council is of the Ashford Family herself—and how much power she holds, compared to the others…'_

The two opened the door to the club house, and lo and behold, who should the two encounter but Milly Ashford herself, the honey-blond granddaughter to Principal Ruben Ashford, in whose hands rested the true power at Ashford Academy (as evidenced by the entire school bowing to her whims for Complete Silence Parties, Crossdresser Balls, etc).

"Hi, I'm Milly, the President of the Student Council," _the_ one and only Milly Ashford fairly sang in greeting, her form radiating charisma, as if she was used to being listened to—and obeyed, but wore her rulership lightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last. And hello to you, Shirley, don't you look nice today."

Kallen was sure that there was a tad of hidden meaning in that last sentence, but decided to overlook it, since Britannians in general were known to have some rather strange quirks.

'_Oh well, it can't be too bad, right? And I get better access in return, so I guess it's a fair exchange…'_

"Oh, thank you, the pleasure's all mine," she replied, curtsying as a noblewoman of her stature might be expected to do.

"Oh, no need to stand on formality," Milly insisted with a friendly smile, waving the two inside. "Come in, come in."

Once inside, Kallen looked around, to find that the interior outdid the exterior in lavishness, and that indeed, there were quite a few tables set out in the ballroom, with trays upon trays of delicious looking edibles upon them – canapés, dumplings, slices of pizza, cold cuts, cheeses, minced meat pies, quiches, and even samosas.

'_They certainly went all out for a simple welcome party…I mean, I don't think even an entire classroom could finish this. Typical Britannian excess, but still, maybe this is the right decision after all…'_

While she was still regarding the spacious ballroom and decorations, two other members of the council bounded down the stairs, these two being a boy with ruffled blue hair (that she recognized as the campus' most notorious rumormonger) and a girl roughly her height with glasses and two braids of dark green.

"Why hello," the boy spoke, attempting to charm her with his smile—an attempt that failed laughably. She recognized him from class as someone who liked to gossip, but wrote him off as mostly harmless. "I'm Rivalz, the secretary…if there's anything you need help with, I'm your man."

"And my name is Nina," added the green-haired glasses girl, her voice frail and rather soft-spoken—almost as if the Council already had an ill girl.

"And you already knew me," her chipper orangette guide said, nodding to the redhead. "I'm a member of the swim club. Welcome."

"It's unfortunate that Lelouch couldn't be here today," Milly added, giving the newest member of the Council a strange flance, as if mentally fitting her for some cosplay. "But he welcomes you as well."

"It's very nice to meet all of you," Kallen replied, curtsying in turn as she played her demure role to the hilt. "Thank you for allowing me to join you."

_Whirr!_

The sound of an electric motor drew Kallen's attention, as the half-Britannian looked over to see a young girl in a motorized wheelchair speeding across the room, holding a bucket in her lap, containing two bottles of champagne. The girl was small, with wavy locks of long brown hair framing her face, and her eyes remained closed as she moved around.

'_So she's both blind and crippled, then? That can't be easy in a Britannia that only focuses on the rule of strength.'_

"Shirley, I'm sorry but, do you think you could set these on the table for me?" the little girl asked, in an adorable fashion that made even the hardened terrorist side of Kallen want to give her a hug.

"Oh, sure, thanks, Nunna," Shirley said with a friendly smile, taking the bucket from the girl and setting it on the table, though she did eye the bottle suspiciously for a moment.

'_Another student council member? But she seems too young…'_

"Ah yes, this is Lelouch's sister Nunnally," Milly said, acting as a go-between to explain the situation. "An honorary member of the Student Council."

_Whirr! a_gain, as the motorized wheelchair turned to face the guest of honor.

"Hello there, how do you do?" Nunnally said, acknowledging her with a gentle nod, relaxed enough that the redhead could tell the girl was among trusted friends. "I'm still in the middle-school group, so I can't be on the council quite yet. I'm filling in for my brother today, since he's sleeping off a cold. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kallen"

"Thank you," Kallen answered demurely, finding that her gentleness this time was not an act, as she did sympathize with Nunnally, since she doubted the girl found life easy. "You as well."

Greetings exchanged, the group proceeded to begin the festivities, talking for a time, enjoying the food and each others' company—until it came time for a toast, when Rivalz and Shirley fought over the propriety of serving alcohol, never mind that the legal drinking age was never much of a consideration where nobility was concerned. It was an amusing sight, one that Kallen would have enjoyed—except that during the scuffle, the bottle was tossed around and around, the pressure within building up, until at last the Kallen caught it—and the cork popped off, hitting her in the face.

'_Ow.'_

This was followed by a gushing stream of foam and liquid that came after, soaking the redhead down to her underwear.

'…_note to self, in the future, do not catch errant bottles when around the Student Council.'_

Thankfully, the Student Council facilities boasted bedrooms and a bathroom, so after a bit more commotion, involving profuse apologies and the mandatory scolding of the scufflers, Kallen removed herself to the bathroom, rinsing off the sticky residue of the champagne with a hot shower.

'_So overbearing and self-righteous…they fight over every little thing, yet remain unaware of the bigger picture. This is ridiculous, really…and my mood is not removed by having to remove the bandages from my arm first._'

"This is why I hate Britanians," she muttered under her breath, preoccupied with washing herself and wondering just when this day would be over as—

_Knock! Knock!_

Irritated by the interruption, Kallen nevertheless pulled back the curtain to hear who was at the door, only to draw it closed again as the door opened and shut, with a strange green-haired woman in a maid uniform walking in, depositing a change of clothes on the bathroom counter—and locking the door behind her.

"So you were here after all," the Grey Witch spoke in a rather arch tone of voice. "I suppose I should thank you for what you did the other day."

'_That's odd…this _maid_ isn't obeying any of the social norms…'_ Kallen thought, slightly suspicious of the way this green-haired woman was acting. _'And she doesn't behave at all submissive, which is very strange…maybe she's new, a Britannian who lost her position and has to work in the service industry?'_

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid you have the wrong person," the redhead replied graciously, trying to smooth things over as much as possible. "I'm afraid that we haven't met before."

The green-haired "maid" only chuckled as she took a step closer, a smug smirk of sorts on the Sorceress' face.

"Oh, but we have, not so long ago," C.C. responded, eying Kallen's silhouette as the terrorist's form tensed. "I admit that I was incapacitated at the time, but I remember you well."

"Incapacitated?" the redhead asked, wondering who the maniac was.

"Yes, tortured and sealed away in a high-pressure containment vessel in a research facility in Osaka," the immortal replied, watching as the redhead flinched. "Thank you for freeing me, though I admit that it _was_ rather depressing to be mistaken for a capsule of poison gas by a group of terrorists."

_Swish!_

The curtain was drawn aside, as Kallen vaulted out of the shower and lunged, spinning about as she slammed C.C. against the wall, pinning the woman with her strength.

"Wait…so _you_ were in that capsule?" the redhead demanded, her eyes boring into the immortal's golden gaze. "So the massacre wasn't about poison gas, but you?!"

"Most likely…" came the simple reply.

"So all those people…all those Japanese people died because of _you?_!" Kallen snarled, anger building up within her as—

_Fwoosh!_

—a wave of heat surged forth from the redhead's body, setting the immortal on fire.

"Holy—"

At the sight of this, the redhead stumbled back in shock and horror, falling back into the shower with a thud, looking down at her hands as if she were in a nightmare.

'_No way…this is just like what happened when I fought…and now…'_

But even on fire, the Grey Witch did not react, her amber eyes continuing to stare at the redhead as pale fingers traced the Laguz rune in midair, with water materializing to douse the flames, blackened flesh knitting together and healing before Kallen's eyes, as if time itself was being wound back.

Though unfortunately, the same could not be said for the outfit, which was burned beyond repair.

"Hmm…inconvenient," C.C. said, closing her eyes momentarily and releasing the mana in the maid outfit, allowing it to return to the form of particles—and be reshaped into a white kimono with blue obi. "Rash, impulsive, and hot-headed…but spirited, much as I recalled. Temper, temper…or you'll end up burning yourself with that fire magecraft of yours more often than not."

Kallen's jaw dropped at this display, backing up against the wall of the shower to put as much distance between her and the strange woman as possible.

"This…this is impossible…" the redhead babbled, unable to believe what had happened before her eyes, her use of magic, the glowing rune in the air, and then the superhuman regeneration. No one should have been able to survive something like that, much less just recreate an outfit that simply. "You can't be human. You…just…who are you? What are you? A devil? A demon?"

The Grey Witch just chuckled softly as she gazed imperiously at the redhead.

"I've been called such names, but really, I am the same as you," the Sorceress replied, conjuring a small flame in the palm of her hand—and then extinguishing it. "An enemy of Britannia, and one of those few who can wield the miracle of magecraft."

"But—"

"—but magic and such things do not exist, you say?" C.C. replied, raising an eyebrow. "Then what, praytell, did you just see? Open your eyes, Kallen Kozuki, and accept the evidence of your senses, for once the impossible has been eliminated, what is left, however improbable, must be the truth."

To her credit, the redhead made a lunge for the pouch-knife on the sink, but the Sorceress materialized a strange black knife out of thin air and knocked the pouch away, before the knife too vanished, leaving Kallen helpless, literally naked before the immortal's gaze.

"If you are interested in the truth of this war and in controlling your power, then I may be able to help," the Grey Witch spoke, turning to go. "Come to Tokyo Tower in two days, at 16:00 hours…come alone."

_Click!_

The door was unlocked, and C.C. had almost stepped out when—

"You—!" Kallen asked weakly, still shaken by what had happened—and why she was still alive after attacking such a powerful foe. "Why would a Britannian…?"

"I have my reasons, first among them being that I am no Britannian," C.C. replied, turning her head to look at the redheaded terrorist. "And how was it my associate phrased it in Shinjuku? Oh yes…if you want to win, you're going to have to trust me."

And with that, the immortal stepped out of the room, leaving a stunned Kallen Kozuki behind.

'_What…just happened? And who...was she?'_

_

* * *

**A/N**: And so time moves forward, control is gained, Lelouch is tortured. What will happen next in our tale? Only the characters themselves know. Thanks for reading, and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated._


	6. Delusional Heartbeat

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai crossover

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**V.V.'s A****telier, ****Pendragon Imperial Palace**

In the center of a vast cavern hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, dimly lit by the glowing of numerous sigils of power, an eternally young boy with blond hair longer than his body sat upon a granite throne, attended to by a slim pink-haired figure standing beside him—a demon familiar that he had crafted eight years ago, using the captured soul of an assassinated enemy and the corpse of Anya Alstreim, the young girl that had been the only witness to his crime.

'_I take life, and I grant it, creating something greater than human with the splintered pieces of the past…'_

A monstrous act, true, and impractical for some magi, given the amount of mana required, but then, V.V. was no mere magus, as the enfant terrible was one of only three Sorcerers alive in the present time. In a way, he, like all other nobles who lived pampered lifestyles, was still a child – but not childlike in the way of being cute and innocent. No, V.V. embodied the worst parts of a child's nature, existing as a hateful, conniving, manipulative being without moral governors, a vicious little sociopath willing to do anything to achieve his goal – a mindset shared by his servants and familiars.

"So the army has failed to apprehend the terrorists that raided the Osaka facility?" the immortal asked, his hands steepled before him as his sharp gaze fixed on the assassin kneeling before him. "And the team of specialists tasked with capturing the Asagami has failed as well?"

"So it would seem, Master V.V.," answered Rolo Haliburton, a skilled assassin who appeared to be a young, purple-eyed boy of indeterminate age – but who was as ageless and inhuman as the Sorcerer who commanded him. "In both cases, the quarry has vanished without a trace, with all of those sent after them eliminated at the cost of great property damage."

"How interesting," intoned V.V.'s soft, melodic voice as the young immortal frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I expected this of the Asagami, but not of terrorists, unless—"

The Third Magician paused, contemplating the possible reasons behind the attack. If the terrorists had only attacked the facility because they thought it contained poison gas, then all was well—if however, they were part of a magi resistance movement who knew the true purpose of the facility, then…

'_The typical Magus Killers that comprise our irregular forces work well enough for apprehending most magi, but If our recent failures are indeed the work of the Witch called 'Puppet Master', 'Visitation of Woe', 'Mistress of Destruction', and _'_Harbinger of Chaos'_, _then it will be necessary to resort to more drastic measures…'_

At that, the immortal stood, his glowing white and gold vestments etched with spell sigils (the Mystic Code "Heaven's Feel", amplifying his ability to manipulate human souls), rustling as he stepped towards his contractor, his voice a sibilant hiss.

"Tell me, Rolo Haliburton, has your network of familiars around the Tokyo Settlement detected any trace of unusual activity while they have been…feeding?" V.V. inquired, clasping his hands behinds his back as he looked at the assassin kneeling before him. "They do have the ability to blend in with the human population more effectively than most."

"Those in Shinjuku have all been eliminated, which is unusual, as conventional weapons usually only slow them down," the ageless killer replied, reaching out with his mind to test his connection with his remaining familiars, while still in his submissive position before his liege. "Likely the work of a mage…or a rogue psychic of the Demon Hunter families…"

A low, harsh chuckle issued from V.V.'s lips, as he looked over to his pink-haired demon familiar, gesturing for her to leave the area and greet a waiting "guest" in the cavern's antechamber, watching as the young girl did his bidding, walking off into the darkness.

"Rise, my assassin," the immortal stated flatly, beckoning for the young boy to stand. "I suspected as much, but seeing as this is the case, I have a mission for you. Will you accept it?"

Rolo stood, his movement a study in crisp efficiency as he met the Sorcerer's purple eyes with his red.

"Your will be done, Master V.V.," the assassin spoke stoically, eager to hear what it was that the immortal wanted him to do. "I assume that there is someone you wish for me to kill?"

"Of course," the Sorcerer said, with his lips quirking into a cruel smirk. "That is the purpose to which you were born, was it not? The reason that you have been blessed with Innate Time Control as well as the gift of the night – having been changed into an immortal Dead Apostle by my magic, that you may better use your talent without penalty?"

"That's right," Rolo replied simply, his hands at his side as he regarded the one who had taken him in as a small child, the only one to show him any kindness. "I can't remember how many people I've killed, just as nobody counts the number of times they brush their teeth or eat a meal. Killing to survive, killing to fulfill an objective—it is all the same, and there is no other place for me."

Indeed, due to how he was raised, the Dead Apostle known as Rolo Haliburton was an existence unfit for society, a creature who found pleasure in coming in contact with death – and excelled at it, given his superior reflexes and physical abilities, superhuman regenerative abilities, and his special brand of magecraft, which allowed him to accelerate or stagnate his body within the flow of time. And besides that, Dead Apostles were notoriously difficult to kill, as their bodies would resist damage from conventional weapons.

"I'm pleased you understand," V.V. chuckled, one of his thin fingers brushing the assassin's cheek, smearing a few drops of his blood against his servant's lips, as Rolo trembled in ecstasy at the taste of an immortal's ichor. "Your mission then, is to go to Area 11 and eliminate any magi or psychics you discover—including the Witch, if she can be located. I trust you will not fail me?"

"Failure is not an option for me, master V.V., not in this," the Dead Apostle answered, inclining his head deferentially.

"Good, you will leave in a matter of days, so I suggest you awaken your remaining familiars, to strengthen you in preparation for the ordeal ahead," the immortal said quietly, tilting his head to the side. "Now wait for a moment in the shadows, if you would. I have business to attend to, assassin, and would like you to observe."

"Yes, milord."

With that, Rolo left, disappearing into the shadows, as V.V.'s pink haired familiar returned, with Luciano Bradley, Knight of Ten and "Vampire of Britannia," in tow.

'_How quaint, that I must meet with a would-be vampire after a true vampire,'_ the immortal mused, activating his Mystic Eyes of Illusion as the duo approached him, an ability that allowed him to appear as he desired to any who looked upon him, with his shadow the only thing that might betray him. _'However, I will do what is required to prevent any more meaningless deaths…'_

So the Sorcerer thought as Luciano Bradley drew near, going to one knee as one might expect of a knight before his sovereign lord, a far cry from his usually boorish and confrontational figure.

Anya Alstreim, the Knight of Six, did the same.

"Your Majesty," the Knight of Ten stated curtly, eyes on the ground. "How may I serve you?"

"Vampire of Britannia, what do people value most?" V.V. asked, appearing to Luciano in the guise of the Emperor of Britannia.

"Why their lives of course, Your Majesty," the bloodthirsty man replied. "Lives that I savor on the battlefield."

"Indeed, Bradley, that is why you became a Knight, to officially take what others value, to affirm that in the end, people are not equal," the immortal boomed, playing the role as best he knew how (which was quite well, considering that he _was _the twin brother of Charles zi Britannia). "In so doing, you pledge body and soul to my service, correct?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the Vampire of Britannia replied, as he was loyal to his country, if nothing else.

"A good answer, Bradley," V.V. smirked, amused at how easily he had tricked the Knight of the Round into becoming one of his familiars, his white and gold raiment glowing as he stepped forward, putting his hand on the Knight's forehead. "And so I shall give you a boon."

"Wha—?" the Knight of Ten asked…or would have, had his mouth responded, which it did not, as darkness closed in all around, his senses being severed from his body one by one, shut away.

"The human body is a fragile thing, Vampire, a vessel that can easily be broken," the Third Magician intoned, smirking as he wrenched Luciano Bradley's soul from his body. "And thus I will set you free of this too-frail mortal container."

'_Begin Dissociation.'_

A quiet humming, as a thousand motes of light burst from the Sorcerer's form—

'_Ending resonance of possession experience…'_

_Hisssss…_

—a hissing in the air, as pure mana and Ether gathered, congealing to create the outline of the Knight of Ten, quickly filled in by light—

'_Relieved of burden, exist a ghost without a shell…materialize, oh spirit!'_

_Flash!_

—a final burst of power, and the Knight of Ten awoke to find himself standing over what had been his body, his soul having been given form by mana, as a strange tattoo like intertwined snakes appeared on V.V.'s arm —with a strange book appearing in the immortal's hand, cover emblazoned with the same design.

"You have no further need for that frail container of flesh," the eternally young boy remarked, a low rumbling laugh issuing from his frame. "For you have become a higher being—a Ghost Liner, an existence that cannot be harmed by conventional weapons. You will not age, and have no further need for food, or drink, or air, as now you exist as a living ghost, bound only unto me."

That was power of the Third Magic, the power to manipulate the human soul, separating it from the body, combining it with new vessels, or to simply materialize it as a life form unto itself, creating a high-dimensional (planar) being that can cause interference in the material world on its own while existing as a spirit.

_Whoosh!_

A puff of air, as Bradley vanished from sight, then a _pop_ as he rematerialized.

"As you see, Vampire, you can revert to spirit form at will, and as such can pass through most inorganic substances with ease…so long as they are not dense with mana, the chief component that makes up your new body."

"Mana, Your Majesty?" the psychopathic Knight asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That which fuels the mystery known as magic, which sustains Our rule," V.V. said with finality, gazing intently at the Knight of Ten. "Vampire of Britannia, you wish to deprive people of their lives? Well I shall grant that wish, and more, allow you to grow stronger from feeding upon their souls. You are ordered to proceed to Area 11 to stamp out any resistance. Now go, my Knight of Ten."

At the sound of this, Luciano Bradley grinned sadistically, bowing deeply to what he perceived to be his Emperor. What happened may have been strange, but if it meant that he would get to kill more people, and would not be hurt in the process—then all the better.

"As you command, Your Majesty," the man replied. "Your will be done."

"Excellent," V.V. intoned, glancing at his other familiar. "Knight of Six, arise and escort the Knight of Ten back to his residence."

The pink-haired familiar nodded, rising from her kneeling position and bowing to the Sorcerer as both she and the Vampire of Britannia exited, their footsteps _tap-tap-tapping_ across bare rock as they passed through the bounded field and vanished.

Rolo, having quietly looked on at this, stepped out of the thick shadows behind the throne.

"Is there anything further you require of me, master V.V.?" the Dead Apostle asked quietly, in a clipped businesslike tone.

In response, the Sorcerer deactivated his Mystic Eyes of Illusion and walked over to the assassin and handed him the small book in his hand, an artifact heavy with mana.

"Rolo, I am giving you this 'Book of False Attendant', that you may command the Vampire of Britannia to work with you, should it prove necessary," the eternally young boy spoke imperiously, regarding his pet killer intently. "In addition, take this body away and feed on it, raising it as an undead familiar, as a vessel in this condition is rather hard to find."

The Dead Apostle bowed deeply as he walked over the now superfluous body of Luciano Bradley, sinking his fangs into the vessel's neck.

'_By all means, continue to resist and struggle, magi of Area 11,' _V.V. thought to himself, returning to his granite throne as he watched his servant feed. _'Reveal yourselves, that my servants may bring you peace, that your denials shall at last be silenced!'_

* * *

**Britannian Military Prison, Outskirts of Tokyo Settlement**

Had Suzaku Kururugi been the superstitious sort, or the type who believed that there were no coincidences, the Honorary Britannian would have avoided Lelouch like the plague, given that disaster always seemed to follow in the exiled prince's wake. Eight years ago, Lelouch had been sent to Japan as a political hostage – followed quickly by Britannia deciding to invade, as if eager to kill off the exile. And now, after encountering his childhood friend for a second time, Suzaku Kururugi had encountered a string of truly bad luck.

'_I had my nose broken by Lelouch, who was working with the terrorists,'_ the soldier recalled, able to do naught else while chained to the wall, his body bruised and battered from the attempts to coerce him to confess. _'Then I was shot for disobeying orders. Admittedly my luck turned when I was given a new experimental Knightmare, but then the arm was burned off by some kind of new weapon, with the systems overheating, and the legs riddled with bullets. And after finally being retrieved, I was taken into custody by military police under the command of Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald…'_

"Your motive is clear, son of Genbu Kururugi," the purist Margrave had sneered, spitting on the bound prisoner, backhanding Private Kururugi across the face. "Murdering members of the Royal Guard, killing the general staff, cutting down Prince Clovis in cold blood – committing high treason against your country – you are an example of why Honorary Britannians cannot be trusted. However, come clean and we will show you mercy, judging you as though you were born a Britannian, not some worthless Eleven."

"You're wrong, I did nothing!" Suzaku had insisted. "There has to be some mistake."

"Tch! So in the end, you act like every other piece of scum and try to save your life?" Jeremiah Gottwald hissed, turning his head from the Private. "Very well then, have it your way. One way or another, the truth will come out."

And then the beatings had begun.

"Uunnghh," the soldier groaned through cracked and bloody lips, with evidence of torture fresh upon his body, since the military had resorted to more brutal tactics when asking politely for a confession had failed. "Why? Don't they understand that no good can come out of reprehensible means?"

'_I'm sure that it's just an honest mistake from an overzealous official,' _the Honorary Britannian rationalized, '_something to reassure the people, never mind that a Japanese person would never have been allowed near the Mobile Command Center in the first place_. _Still, I swore my loyalty to Britannia, so why are they doing this?'_

For the son of a prime minister, Suzaku Kururugi was woefully blind to the fact that in a struggle between someone pure of heart and someone corrupt, corruption usually won, as it snared the pure within its coils and manipulated them into doing its bidding. No, perhaps it was better to say that he denied it, having been forced to confront that truth while in the throes of an inversion impulse, killing his father with his own hands.

**KILL. KILL. KILL. YOU. KILLED.**

"I did nothing wrong," the soldier denied, whispering it in an attempt to reassure himself, to know that the presence in the back of his mind had not once again escaped. "It's a mistake…I've done nothing!"

**LIES.**

**Melting wall. Solvable meaning. Self who can explain. Smoothness of changeable permeability. Transitioning time. LIES LIES LIES ALL LIES.**

_Tap-tap-tap!_

Eager for something, anything, to distract him to distract him from the darkness in his thoughts, Private Kururugi looked up towards the sound of approaching footsteps, only to find a certain labcoat wearing Earl of Pudding standing outside his cell, looking over the boy as if he were a specimen in a cage.

"Congratulations," the overly chipper voice of Earl Lloyd Asplund. "The two you asked me about weren't on the list of casualties."

"That's good to hear," Suzaku croaked out, breath hissing from his lungs in a painful gurgle.

'_That's good…even if Lelouch _has_ become a terrorist…and what happened to that girl? Why was she in the poison gas capsule?'_

"Not much luck on your end though, I'm afraid," the mad scientist continued, his face souring as he recalled the responses to his inquiries. "You may be getting a trial but there's no one pulling for you. I may just lose the most vital component of the Lancelot…not that its maiden sortie went very well, due to an unforeseen development. I didn't think the terrorists had access to a radiant wave surger…"

Though Lloyd was forced to admit that they likely did, considering what had happened to the Z-01 Lancelot—an incident that had caused him to go ballistic after the fact.

'_A trial? But surely, things can't be too bad then?' _Suzaku thought, though he cringed upon remembering the flames rushing up the Lancelot's arm—and the terrorist's leader's counterattack, which had disabled his advanced frame.

"But the court is where the truth comes to light, isn't it?" the Honorary Britannian asked, holding out a shred of hope.

Lloyd only shrugged.

"I expect there will be more smoke and mirrors than anything," the Earl said, shrugging. "The truth is scarce of late."

"If that's how the world works, then so be it," Private Kururugi said, swallowing painfully. "I have no regrets."

**Death contract. Death Wish. Poison and honey. Another, only me. Raging, raging, raging—rejection of everything.**

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

By the time that Kallen Kozuki finished her shower and got dressed (in clothing that C.C. had pilfered from Lelouch's room, smelling faintly of lavender), braving a gauntlet of apologies and reassurances from the members of the Student Council that had stayed behind as she exited the building, the sun had already set, with the grounds of Ashford Academy bathed in the last remnants of twilight.

'_If_ _you want to win, you're going to have to trust me.'_

Twice now, Kallen had heard those words, once from a mysterious voice on the radio, and once from a strange woman who had cornered her in the bathroom, revealing that she had been the reason the Britannians had instigated the Shinjuku massacre, with the Witch's words deliberately provoking the terrorist into—

'_That's right…I attacked her…setting her on fire with my mind.'_

The redhead shuddered as she recalled the scent of burning flesh, the realization that she herself possessed an inhuman power, that she could bring forth destruction with a thought—or at least, focused rage.

'_But more importantly…who was the woman who lies at the root of these mysteries? Why was she inside a gas capsule? How did she douse the flames and heal herself like that?'_

So many mysteries, with a single word given as an answer: Magecraft. Now, being a rational person who tended to be skeptical about the existence of supernatural forces, Kallen Kozuki would have ordinarily laughed off such an answer as a joke—but given the circumstances it was rather hard to do so, since the supernatural was really the only explanation that made any sense. True, it was also possible that the research facility that her resistance cell had raided had been working on some kind of super-soldier technology that was effectively magic anyway, but that latter explanation would not account for Kallen's own abilities.

'_I have to accept the Witch's words for now,'_ the redhead conceded, as she walked along the concrete trail towards the main gate of the school, a solitary figure making her way through deserted grounds of Ashford Academy, moving slowly in the chill night air. _'And to know more, I will have to obey her instructions to come to Tokyo Tower, alone. How...unsettling.'_

She had just reached the gate when—

"You're rather later than expected, magus," came a throaty, amused voice from the shadows. "I suppose I'll let you off this time, given the disconcerting nature of our…mutual friend, though she doesn't exactly appreciate being set on fire, even if she _can_ heal."

Kallen turned with a start, whirling about and extending her pouch-knife in a single motion, body tensing defensively—only to freeze as her eyes fell upon the figure of Mana Ryougi leaning against the wall, dressed in a blouse and skirt combination of dark purple and black, studying the redhead with eerily glowing blue eyes as she twirled a knife between the fingers of her left hand.

"Wh-wh—Mana?!" the redhead sputtered in shock, taking an involuntary step backwards as her instincts screamed at her to flee from this shadowed wraith. "What are you—?"

A throaty chuckle, as the assassin smiled ever so slightly.

"Escorting you to your residence," the Satsujinki replied simply, stepping out of the darkness into the pale moonlight, each movement deliberate, utterly without waste. "As one who has been awakened, but is yet untrained, you are in a rather dangerous situation, since special powers attract others."

"Did _she_ ask you to do this?" Kallen demanded, discarding her frail façade, since this other woman was obviously in league with the Witch, and thus knew her true self. "And just what are you?"

"Those are the burning questions of the day, aren't they, Kozuki?" the Chokushi no Magan adept asked in turn, matching question for question. "All I will say for now is that it would be in your best interests to have me accompany you—if not, well I will not take responsibility for the consequences."

"Is that a threat?" the redheaded terrorist inquired, her body stiffening as heat—

"Of course not," Mana denied flatly, arching one slender eyebrow, "but one who holds a weapon, without knowing how to use it, only invites disaster. Now come along…time passes, and I do have other matters to attend to besides this."

Well, Kallen supposed that it couldn't hurt to have an escort, considering that the woman already knew her secrets—and she had the feeling that if Mana had been out to kill her, the redhead would have never seen it coming.

"…Ok."

* * *

**Lamperouge Residence, Ashford Academy**

While Lelouch Lamperouge remained in asleep in a healing trance so that his body could recover from the damage that had been done to it, life continued on more or less as usual in the Lamperouge household, with four figures sitting at the Lamperouge's dining table, practicing the traditional Japanese art of Origami, as they discussed various topics of interest, chatting pleasantly. And all this, even though each was as different as could be in age, occupation, and concept of existence from one another – an odd assortment consisting of a ninja maid, an exiled princess, a powerful magus in hiding, and the First Sorceress.

"So how is Lelouch doing today?" Milly asked, an innocuous enough question that shouldn't arouse any suspicion from young Nunnally. "I wanted to visit him, but if he's not up for it."

"Big brother is still resting," the exiled princess responded, turning her head slightly towards the hallway where the raven-haired prince's room could be found. "Oh, that's right…I didn't have a chance to thank your friend Miss Mana for bringing him back after he collapsed yesterday. I'd like to invite her to dinner for a chance to meet her."

C.C. and Milly shared a quick glance at one another, knowing exactly what had been the cause of Lelouch's collapse, and who had been responsible for it.

"I'll be sure to relay the message," the Grey Witch noted. "I'm sure she'll appreciate a hot dinner that isn't pizza."

"I take it that you do most of the cooking?" Milly asked curiously, having seen some of what the Sorceress liked to eat – and what the Witch's magic automata tended to produce when left to their own devices at the stove.

"For about as long as she and I have lived together," C.C. replied, with a hint of a smile. "We're almost like sisters, she and I…"

'_Curious,' _thought Sayoko Shinozaki, the woman who had once served as Milly's personal maid, but had been reassigned to the Lamperouges when they were placed under the Ashfords' care. _'As the 37__th__ Successor to the Shinozaki School, I am well aware of the importance of body language—and that of this "Mana" seemed like a trained swordswoman…'_

"Since it seems that Master Lelouch will not be coming to dinner today, what shall we do?" the ninja maid asked aloud.

"Well, it has been some time since we've had the chance to just talk, so let's do that," Nunnally replied gently, hoping that her brother would be alright, since he has been acting rather strange over the last couple of days. _'Is it unrequited love, I wonder? Miss C.C. did say that he pledged himself to her…' _"And I want to know more about origami, if you don't mind, Miss Sayoko."

"Of course," the maid replied, finishing a paper crane with a few deft folds. "Here, this one's finished."

With those words, Sayoko placed the completed origami structure into Nunnally's outstretched hands.

"Ah, a bird?" the little princess asked, her fingers roaming over the figure to deduce its identity.

"Yes, it's a crane," Sayoko confirmed, voice warm with praise.

"It is said in Japanese folklore that if you fold a thousand cranes, your deepest wish will come true," C.C. added, holding a crane of her own, before beginning to work on another folding, as the three figures at the table turned towards the green-haired witch. "A single paper crane for every year of life that the holy crane is rumored to live…"

"You certainly know a lot, Miss C.C.," Nunnally commented, surprised at the immortal's knowledge.

"Wishes were something one of my dearest friends talked about at length," C.C. replied, eyes intent on the crane before her as her fingers continued their work. "A miracle that you cannot accomplish with your own power, and so seek the assistance of others to achieve…"

"A miracle, eh?" Milly asked, amused at that particular definition, as magecraft was essentially the recreation of a miracle. "So what do you wish for, then?"

A few moments of silence, while C.C. finished a folding -- a modular cube of sorts called the Tamatebako.

"In the Japanese story of Urashima Taro, a fisherman received a folded paper box from the goddess of the sea, with his age sealed within," the immortal recounted quietly, placing the cube in the center of the table. "For saving a turtle's life, he was rewarded with a visit to the palace of the sea god, staying there for three days, while 300 years passed by outside. When he finally returned home…nothing was the same…he did not recognize the people, the buildings, or anything at all. I left my home long ago, and all that remains is the future, so I only wish for tomorrow to come."

"A simple wish," Nunnally said, putting her crane on the table and touching one of C.C.'s hands. "You're very wise for your age, Miss C.C."

'_Only for my apparent age,' _the immortal thought wryly. _'Considering my true age, not particularly so. I've probably forgotten more bits of wisdom than most people ever know…wearisome, ah, quite wearisome. While surrounded by darkness, I persevered to clearly comprehend, and have seen a cursed nightmare containing miseries galore…'_

"Not as wise as you might think," the Grey Witch replied softly, her face taking on an almost wistful expression. "What do you wish for?"

"I only wish the world was a gentler place," the young princess said straightforwardly, with the Sorceress sighing mentally at this.

'_A gentle world, eh? A world without meaningless killing, without hate—how many have killed for such a world, how much blood has been futilely shed for this purpose?' _the Grey Witch wondered, having seen countless civilizations rise and fall based on such a thing. _'Even V.V. wishes for such a thing – but I wonder what kind of world you will truly build in your time…'_

Witch and Ashford magus met one another's eyes for a brief moment before looking away. As two combatants in a secret war hidden away from humanity at large, and as magi in particular, whose lives were never peaceful, a wish such as that…

"Well, maybe when you can see again, your wish will come true," Milly replied gently, not wanting to disappoint the little girl.

"Really?" Nunnally asked, as even she found the notion hard to believe. "Do you really think so?"

"A wish is magic in itself, grown from thought, experience and imagination, enshrined within mind, heart, and soul," the Witch answered cryptically. "Believe that it will, and change will come, for that is humanity's geass, to believe in the beauty of their dreams."

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement**

As the crimson moon shone down from overhead, painting the ground a bloody madder red, a Satsujinki and a part time terrorist made their way through the streets of the Tokyo Settlement, heading for the estate of the other, keeping an eye on their surroundings as they proceeded as fast as simple walking would allow, with Mana setting the pace, silver knife clutched loosely in her left hand.

'_After the events of the Shinjuku incident, it is likely that more Magus Killers have been deployed to search for signs of unusual activity,'_ the Chokushi no Magan adept thought, looking at the world with her ability to see the death of all things. _'The Witch's opponent is not exactly one to sit back and do nothing when he encounters resistance, after all.'_

For a time, they walked in silence, with the echoing of their shoes upon the sidewalk as the only traces they left behind, until at last, one of them spoke up.

"Do you really expect trouble?" Kallen asked quietly, not seeing much in her surroundings that could be a threat, yet noting how tense the Satsujinki seemed, like a coiled spring ready to explode in an instance.

"Always," Mana replied curtly, the one word encapsulating her view on the topic better than a long diatribe. "Given what I am, that should be no surprise."

"And just what _are_ you, then?" the redheaded terrorist inquired of her companion, coming to her own conclusions. "Given how guarded you're being, might we be in…the same line of work?"

"I'm afraid that's a secret," the Chokushi no Magan adept said dryly, as the two continued along through streets that were empty, since most people went inside after dark—or mostly empty anyway, since a few businessmen can be seen wandering here and—

_Thump!_

—a sound from an alleyway between two buildings, like the shuffling of footsteps.

A chill ran up Kallen's spine as she sensed a wave of overwhelming hostility from the Satsujinki beside her, as pure, unadulterated killing intent flowed from the assassin—and the businessmen charged, their fingers elongating into bony claws as they pounded towards the duo.

'_The Dead…familiars of a Dead Apostle…'_

The assassin snarled as she took in the appearance of these new arrivals, seeing only masses of black "lines" – scribbles running through human-seeming shapes, with "points of death" so closely packed that they seem like clotting blood.

"Mana, what…?" the redhead began, but the raven-haired girl was already in motion, as—

_Squelch! Fsh! Slash!_

—the sounds of combat filled the air, with the Ryougi drawing a second knife as she lunged forward, slicing the air.

'_What the hell is…?'_

_Swish!_

With an ominous premonition, Kallen moved forward to give chase, her movements just enough to avoid a swipe from behind.

"Eh?"

The redhead whirled to see an emaciated figure with a face like a dried out skull, body withered, as if flash dried.

"Hyuu! Hyuu!" the figure screeched with a hideous voice, and looking down, Kallen could see a large hole in the skull headed figure's throat, preventing him from speaking correctly. In the throat of this bag of bones, vocal chords vibrate in accord with the ghastly voice.

Kallen hissed, jumping back and raising her pouch knife as the dried up creature attacked, intending to—

_Whump!_

—the creature charged into the knife, with the redhead using all her strength in an attempt to ward it off—but to no avail as—

"Guh!"

—her body arced from pain as fingers like sharp needles dug into her shoulder, shredding the skin mercilessly, tearing into nerves and flesh as—

"Ah, aahhh—!"

—pain, overwhelming pain, shot through Kallen's mind, and although she tried to tear off the creature, it was too strong, and with a creaking sound, the skull's jaw opened, wide enough to bite off her head —

"St—"

_Thwack!_

—a last blow thrown with strength born of desperation pushes the opponent back, as—

_WHOOSH!_

—a wave of heat surged forth from the redhead's body, setting the living corpse on fire, the dessicated body catching flame quickly, falling the ground and writhing as it is consumed.

Softly, like the remnants of a dream, it burned away to ash.

'_What the hell was that—wait…if Mana was my escort, and ran to confront the other enemies…is she ok?'_

_Squish!_

A dull, sickening sound up ahead and to the right, and with all the speed she was capable of, Kallen staggered forward, rushing towards the source of that sound, where she was sure the Satsujinki would be.

Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, the terrorist stepped into the alley.

_Thump!_

Her heart pounded, racing as every ounce self-preservation left within her told her to turn back, that if she went any further, she would be unable to turn back. But it was already too late, as her feet moved on their own, leading her out into an—

"Eh?"

That weak sound was all that Kallen could manage, as the back alley was a single sheet of crimson, limbs strewn amongst the garbage and rubble. Not the limbs of dogs, or cats or the like, but human limbs, with blood dripping from fresh meat and bone, staining the ground and walls with the blood.

A heavy scent fills her nostrils, thick and pungent, like a red fog permeating the body, the choking smell of ash and blood.

A face. A face. A face. A face on a severed head, rolling around with an expression of agony. A face shriveled up like a mummy, split in halves. A face with both eyes gouged out, so distorted that Kallen could not tell if it used to be a man or a woman.

Six bodies, covered by a blanket of ash—and a seventh at her feet, with a gaping wound in its neck and an angled cut transecting its torso, organs spilling, bulging grotesquely out from the wound, transforming it into something inhuman, a horrific caricature of what a person should be, with a resemblance so revolting that it was difficult to look at.

'_What happened here …'_

Unable to make a sound, Kallen merely gazed speechless at the corpses, now reduced to what looked like the scrapheap for a sculpture artist, her eyes sweeping across as they caught sight of a shadowed figure standing a few meters ahead, light glinting from the knives in her hands, covered in the shine of ichor.

"Mana…?" the redhead hazarded, as the Satsujinki turned, her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception blazing like azure stars in the darkness.

All at once, the redhead found herself paralyzed, unable to speak, as her blood ran cold. She remembered thinking of Mana as someone who had been in her line of work, a fellow member of the resistance—thinking of the raven-haired girl as a blade that would slash away anything in her path—but this was—

'_Death…'_

That was the fitting word that Kallen could find to describe the shadow before her, as she stood shivering, waiting for—

"Kuh."

Realizing the effect she had on the one she was supposed to escort, Mana sheathed her blades and looked away from Kallen, with the redheaded terrorist's knees giving way, the girl slumping like a puppet with its strings cut.

_Thud!_

Sighing, Mana walked over to the collapsed form of Kallen Kozuki and picked her up in a princess cradle, as the redhead looked up at her with wide eyes, stiffening in the Satsujinki's arms.

"I'm not your enemy, you know," the Chokushi no Magan adept spoke quietly, as she carried the newly awakened fire magus out of the alleyway, moving swiftly but silently towards their destination.

"But you are death..." Kallen began, shivering as she involuntarily burrowed herself into the killer's warmth. "With your eyes, how can you not be--"

From the very beginning, it had been against the natural order for a being to accept something recognized as certain death, and so the body responded to this blasphemy by screaming to itself to run away, to shove...but it could not.

"I wonder if you understand what it is to see through my eyes?" Mana said abruptly, cutting the resistance fighter off. "To see the world's uncertainty and fragility, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, with the illusion that all could perish in an instant. If you think that I am terrifying because I am death, imagine how I must feel. But I will tell you this...I am not your enemy. Now rest..."

Straining her eyes, the Satsujinki perceived the concept of Kallen's unease and anxiety, stabbing that point with one of her fingers, as the redhead relaxed, falling asleep in the bloodstained killer's arms.

_'How strange...I do not prefer escort missions, but at least there is not much further to go, and it is unlikely that more Dead shall strike...at least for tonight.'_

Or Mana thought to herself as she looked around at the scene of carnage around her, noticing that she was extremely thirsty. Was it because of the tension, the excitement, or the knowledge that a chance to destroy would soon come? With a last glance of at this place filled with death, the Chokushi no Magan adept's lips curled into a smile as she turned to go, holding the weight of a slumbering half-Britannian in her arms, feeling that just at this instant, she was alive.

* * *

**A/N**: An interesting fact for all of you – in Roman culture, turning the other cheek after being struck by a superior was actually a sign of defiance, a demand to be acknowledged. The reason for this? In that culture, one only struck social inferiors with the back of the right hand (the left hand was never used), and turning the cheek invited a strike from the front of the hand (or the fist). Doesn't sound too bad at first, until one realizes that to strike someone with a fist (or to slap them with the palm) in that culture was to implicitly acknowledge them as a social equal – one does not fight with an inferior, after all, as it is beneath one.

Thank you for reading, and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.


	7. Remaining Sense of Pain

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Lamperouge Residence, Ashford Academy**

Over the long millennia of her existence, the Grey Witch had often pondered the conundrum of sleep, coming to various conclusions as she had passed through the endless flow of time, since it fascinated her that humans required so much more sleep than most other animals, save sloths (an obvious exception, given the name)…and it was an interesting topic to think about, since sleep was linked to dreams, and dreams to her magic, the "denial of nothingness", or more simply, creation.

"To sleep, perchance to dream,"C.C. murmured as she sat in the room of a certain prince-in-exile, regarding Lelouch's sleeping form as she leafed through one of his books, recalling lines written by a famous playwright to whom she had appeared as a muse of sorts, a "Dark Lady" personifying the forces of chaos and desire. "And in that sleep what dreams may come must give us pause…"

Given the circumstances and her contractor's likely motivations, the immortal rather thought _Hamlet_ an appropriate choice of reading material for the Black Prince—though she rather hoped the end of this grand play would be rather less costly.

'_Not that this war of sorcerers is likely to end that way,'_ C.C. thought, grimacing as she remembered the events of the last war, when the Fourth Magician (whose domain was Time) had altered the flow of time around the Grey Witch as she slumbered, effectively sealing her away in a different time as an uprising began. When she finally awakened, it had been too late to intervene, with her homeland all but destroyed, and the other Sorcerers engaged in a final struggle to the death against one another—a battle she had ended by unleashing the full might of her power. _'But at least this time, we do not have to contend with the Magicians of Destruction and Time.'_

It was because of that incident that she had begun to view sleep as something inconvenience at best and evil at worst, a specter looming at the close of each day that stole away precious moments of time, forcing her to relive her nightmares over and over again, wondering if there was something more that she could have done. Others had fought, others had died in her name while she remained asleep, and irrationally she had feared that when she went to sleep, the world would change around her, becoming utterly unrecognizable.

'_At the table, I did not bring up the tale of Urashima Taro at random, as the situation in that story was my fear…a situation that most never have to deal with, as the world only changes so much in any mortal lifetime.'_

C.C. laughed quietly as she glanced at her contractor, a fragile sound that echoed through the spartan chamber, fraught with memories of a distant past, lost even to the oldest tales.

'_To wander through the ages forever, without loss, without gain, a strange half-existence that few could understand,'_ the immortal reflected silently. _'Though I suppose this outcast magus might, since he has already lost so much. I do wonder if Lelouch welcomes the vulnerability of sleep as the only time when he can escape from the harsh reality in which he finds himself.'_

As her companions had died or drifted away to tend to their own affairs, the Witch, too, had reconsidered her view on sleep, finding it to be more of a blessing than a curse, since it allowed her a chance to escape from her solitary existence, granting her the freedom of another world as time flowed on towards eternity.

'_Funny, that my miracle is the denial of nothingness, yet I have come to embrace these short bouts of oblivion…and what's more, that I have partnered with a young girl whose power is to utterly destroy, returning creation to the nothingness of Akasha. But then, life and death do stand back to back, after all…'_

"Uunghh…"

A muffled groan from the bed, as after two days of forced slumber, Lelouch Lamperouge began to stir at last from his healing trance, body creaking as stiff limbs and unused muscles were put into play, with the magus slowly sitting up, wincing from residual soreness.

"So, you've finally awakened, boy," commented the Grey Witch, amber eyes glinting with wicked amusement as she regarded the magus. "Had you slept any longer, I would have begun calling you _Lulu_ van Winkle, judging by how soundly you sleep…and your choice in clothing. Crossdressing…an unexpected hobby for a young man, though given your feminine and flamboyant nature, I should have expected it."

"You—" the prince uttered, whipping his head about to glare at the immortal Witch, only for—

"Auughh!"

—the sudden movement to trigger an explosion of white hot pain to erupt in his brain, causing him to clutch his head in agony, as the witch clucked her tongue.

"You know better than to move so quickly after being sleeping for so long. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised…you're just as bad as your Q-1 in some ways," C.C. chuckled, shaking her head as she stood, leaving the half-read volume of Shakespearean plays on the desk and sauntering over to the prince's side. "Though unlike her, your gifts are less suited to direct combat."

A moment of silence as Lelouch waited out the fading pain, his violet gaze meeting the Witch's eyes.

"So it would seem. Transference of consciousness, was it? A useful reconnaissance tool for a strategist, though not as useful in combat as fire magic," Lelouch noted coolly, shifting away from rays of sunlight angled across his face, illuminating the half, leaving the rest in shadow.

"True, though your lineage should also allow you to manipulate ambient energy, since flow of consciousness derives from flow of energy," the Witch appended, adding one extra bit of information. "So you may be able to disable electrical devices or such, if necessary…"

"Hmm…interesting," Lelouch murmured. Then he paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the figure before him. "Speaking of gifts…what exactly are yours?"

"That's not something you need to know," the Sorceress related, her lips twisting into a wry smirk as she touched the boy's forehead with the back of her right hand. "Speaking of things you should know, your circuits seem to have recovered from the near burnout they suffered earlier, when your nervous system went haywire. But then, that's to be expected after a long healing sleep."

"Sleep…" the exile repeated, looking around groggily. "Exactly how long was I out after that training session?"

"Two days, which was about what I expected from someone as unfit as you are," C.C. replied, her face seemingly impassive as she made her damning pronouncement. "It looks like we may have to add some physical conditioning to your training regimen—maybe some live combat training with the Ashford magus, since she has expressed some frustration with you."

_Gulp._

'_Anything but that...'_ Lelouch wanted to say, but refrained from speaking so, given that Milly did have some reasons to be angry at him—and given that the Grey Witch was probably even more powerful than Milly (and even if not, had a beautiful but terrifying assassin at her beck and call), it would probably be unwise to protest too much, even if his ego demanded it. _ 'I don't want to die after all…at least not before I destroy Britannia!'_

So instead, the prince simply asked a question, rubbing the kinks out of his body.

"So when is the next training session to be then?"

A dry chuckle.

"Right after breakfast, since you need to be briefed about a meeting this afternoon."

"With who, if I may ask?" the exile asked wearily.

"Why, with your Q-1 of course," the Witch replied, smirking all the while.

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

In her sixteen years of life, Kallen Kozuki had been in many dangerous situations – surviving the air strikes during the invasion of Japan, facing down Britannian soldiers in hand to hand combat, running decoy for the Japanese resistance in Shinjuku, narrowly escaping explosions from sabotaged vehicles and the like. And yet, she had never been as terrified as on that night two days ago, when in the aftermath of an attack by an inhuman enemy, the redhead had chanced to look upon the shadowed figure of a girl who was inescapable death in human form.

'_I will tell you this...I am not your enemy.'_

Such were the last words that the part-time terrorist had heard before had collapsed and lost consciousness, only to wake hours later in the familiar comfort of her bed, meaning that the mysterious "Mana Cocteau" (which Kallen figured was likely an alias) had apparently carried her home after the events of the brutal assault by the…well, "zombie" was the best word for it, she supposed.

'_What I want to know is just what the hell those things were…and how Mana could kill them so easily?'_ Kallen wondered, recalling how difficult even one had been to kill, how her knife had stabbed into the leathery flesh, but had gotten stuck, with the creature continuing to attack. _'And yet, judging by the amount of ash, she beat several, not even taking an injury…and…'_

A shadow standing alone in the midst of a blood-coated expanse, holding two bloody knives coated with ash, her two eyes burning an unnatural blue, looking through the part time terrorist as if looking into her very soul, like a grim reaper judging the worth of her life.

'…_those eyes…why did she look at me with those eyes…?' _the redhead thought, wrapping her arms around herself to reassure herself that she had not been slashed apart, chills racing down her spine as she recalled the dissonantly serene on her escort's face, as if Mana were used to scenes such as that. _'Still, she protected me…and she did carry me home, so I guess I should thank her, even though I haven't seen her since that night.'_

For a moment, Kallen entertained the notion that the "Satsujinki" (bloodthirsty killer), as she had labeled the raven-haired assassin in her mind, was avoiding her, but dismissed the thought, as that was probably foolish.

'_She probably has other things to do, as do I,' _the redhead rationalized, thinking that no doubt the green-haired Witch had the Reaper running errands for her… _'Thinking about things rationally, I have not been outside at night since that day, and those creatures probably don't attack when it's still light out. Speaking of things to do…I have to go to Tokyo Tower at 1600 today for answers…'_

She had considered asking members of her resistance cell to join her, but had decided against it, given that a violation of the conditions set by the Witch might make her decide not to show up at all.

'_And that, I cannot allow…I need answers as to what this power is, who Mana and that witch really are, and what the so-called "truth" of this war is…'_

Magic – was that what the war was really about? And despite her anger at Britannians for being inhuman beasts in the way they treated others, she had never expected actual inhuman beasts to be released against her like demons from the old tales.

'_Demons…up until the Shinjuku Incident, I thought that demons and magic were just stories, but after everything I've seen and experienced, I have no choice but to conclude that both are real.'_

As hardened and jaded as Kallen liked to believe she was, the part-time terrorist had to admit that the notion of the supernatural still, frankly, unnerved her, especially when those who practiced the arcane arts blended in so well with society—until they chose to act. And while _she_ of all people really had no right to complain about others hiding their true selves, the secrets that she was hiding weren't nearly as deadly.

'_After all, if the Britannians found out who I was, they'd just shoot me and be done with it, as opposed to the Witch, for whom they'd mobilize the army and massacre thousands in order to get to cover up her existence…'_

_Brrring!_

Mercifully, before her thoughts could turn towards suspicions about her fellow classmates possibly being magi or demons in disguise, the bell rang, signaling the end of another wearisome day of class, with most students packing up and leaving quickly for club activities, others returning to the dorms, and a few remaining in the room to chat or watch videos on their computers.

The half-Britannian only shook her head at this, wondering not for the first time if the shallow nature of these students was genuine, or whether, like hers, they were but a façade…

'_Which reminds me, I have to deal with that Vice President Lamperouge, since he likely saw me break character in the courtyard. What will it take to keep him quiet, I wonder?'_

Kallen knew well that she would have to deal with the ice prince sooner or later (especially since she was now a member of the student council), and so cast her gaze around the room to look for Lelouch, only to find that he wasn't there.

'_And I thought I was the one who missed classes all the time…guess he must still be out sick…'_

Well, if that was the case, there was no helping it, and so the part-time terrorist was about to say goodbye to her 'friends' and head to Tokyo Tower for her appointment, but was stopped in her tracks by the content of a media stream from a nearby computer, and the background chatter of the students.

"…businessmen found dead, as the unknown serial killer strikes again, in the heart of the Tokyo Settlement …" the news was reporting, showing pictures of an alleyway covered with blood, and the remains of torn up bodies. "…mangled bodies ripped apart by as if by a wild animal, covered with ash…"

"No way…" one of Kallen's so-called friends muttered, momentarily stunned by the mention of death. "How could there be a killer here, in the settlement?"

"…so far, the killer appears to be targeting young people coming back from parties," the news reported, further disturbing the girls in the room. "Students are warned not to go out at night…"

"Oh boo. And Sophie's debutante ball was planned in a few days," another girl said with dismay, changing the stream to something else. "Now what are we going to do for fun?"

"Heh, it's not like it would ever happen to us," another sniffed, not terribly impressed or affected by the news of the killings. "I'll just have to get Papa to hire some extra bodyguards."

"…you know that not all of us are nobles who can afford these things, Miya," the first girl grumbled in response. "Besides, I don't exactly feel comfortable going out at night when a killer is on the loose. Do you, Kallen?"

Hearing the unexpected question, the redhead shivered, trembling with trepidation.

"I don't either," the redhead said in her usual demure tone—especially not when she knew that she was one of the ones being targeted. "I don't think that going to a ball is worth it if it means getting ourselves killed."

'_Not that I don't appreciate the chance to escape from having to go to a ball without claiming to be sick, but I don't want to die quite yet…'_

"I guess you're right, Kallen," Miya admitted, the purple-haired girl sighing in disappointment. "And I'd so been looking forward to wearing that new dress too…"

But Kallen's attention had been drawn by the media stream once again, with the screen of the computer displaying the face of the acting-viceroy, Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, with the man apparently currently holding a press-conference, fielding questions from reporters on why he had needed to take up this role.

"For seven years," the arrogant leader of the Purist faction thundered to the crowd, "For seven years, Britannia has ruled lightly in Area 11, improving the welfare of this place: creating jobs, building up civic infrastructure, providing economic freedom for Elevens to live as they will – even offering them a chance to become Honorary Britannians, offering the chance for equality."

Kallen ground her teeth in displeasure, suppressing the urge to shoot a death glare at the screen—or worse, to set it on fire—but the bombastic noble continued to speak.

"But as our great Emperor, Charles zi Britannia, is fond of saying, 'people are not equal'!" the noble boomed out, his face twisted in anguish. "Nay, it is equality in itself that is evil, for it is the natural order of things for the strong to subjugate the weak, for the mighty to trample on the powerless. One only has to look at the current state of affairs in Area 11 to see this undeniable truth, for what have the Elevens done with our generosity? Rejected it, throwing it in our faces—choosing instead to become terrorists, daring to blame us for their poverty and squalor! Witness the continuing acts of terrorism perpetrated by their kind throughout this peaceful Area! Witness the atrocity of Shinjuku, where they unleashed poison gas among their own people simply to strike at us, where Prince Clovis was taken from us by their treachery, dying as a martyr for Holy Britannia! But there is time for tears, no time to mourn, for we must burry our sorrow and carry on his will, to crush those would stand against us without mercy! All hail Britannia!"

Bile rose in the redhead's throat as she listened to the hateful drivel of the acting viceroy, mentally snarling as she thought about how much she would like to grab the man and burn him to cinders.

'_But how would I even get close enough to that sneering bastard for that?'_

**

* * *

**

**C.C.'s Atelier, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

In a vast subterranean chamber ringed by artificial waterfalls, with a ring of runes bounding the entrances and exits, the magus named Lelouch Lamperouge sat cross-legged on the floor, breathing slowly in and out as he opened his Magic Circuits, allowing magical energy to flow through his body once more.

'_Five gates revolving – locks open.'_

The raven-haired prince gritted his teeth as pain washed though him once again. Not as much as before, certainly, when an overwhelming surge of magical energy had ravaged him, but enough to be a major distraction for someone unused to it. Fortunately though, what Lelouch lacked in experience, he made up for with mental discipline.

"Hmm, not bad," Milly commented, with the blonde sitting beside him, wearing her uniform, monitoring the condition of his body with a hand on his neck. "Crest and circuit are nominal, mana flow is stable…good, time for exercise two."

The exile grimaced, focusing on the Ashford magus' voice as an anchor for his sense of self.

"And what's it to be this time, Madame Prez?" Lelouch asked dryly, lifting a wary eyebrow. "Another guided tour of Ashford Academy? Perhaps the showers this time, instead of just the girls' locker room?"

"Heh, you're on your own this time…I can't keep holding your hand as a magus," Milly replied with a sarcastic laugh, flicking her fingers against the younger magus' forehead. "Besides, you of all people should be familiar with the basics of disassociating mind and body, so we'll have you do a hands-on exercise this time."

"Oh?" inquired the outcast prince, intrigued despite himself. "And just what will this consist of?"

_Clatter!_

A number of empty pizza boxes were scattered on the floor around the prince, moving from one chamber to the next, courtesy of a certain smirking Witch (who, of course, was the reason the boxes were empty), who plopped herself down on a conveniently placed beanbag chair nearby.

"You were only able to transfer your mind to all those areas of Ashford Academy last time because the Ashford magus was helping you to do so," the immortal noted languidly, picking up some bite-sized mini pizzas from a nearby tray. "Normally, you have to be able to 'see' the place or object you wish to transfer into—meaning that you either have to be familiar enough to picture it in your mind, or you have to actually see the location."

"Which means no stealing peeks at Shirley, since you don't know the layout of the girls' locker room well…or any locker room at that, since you do like to skip those gym classes," the Student Council President added playfully, just to see the reaction on her subordinate's face. "We'll start instead with a simple exercise then—transferring your consciousness from pizza box to pizza box, alright? And from there, we'll move onto the rest of Ashford."

The prince-in-exile only sighed.

'_What did I do to deserve this? I mean, I want to learn to use my power more effectively, but really…'_

"Really Milly, don't push your perversions onto me," Lelouch chided, feeling his magical energy well up, running through his circuits with nowhere to go. "Now…could we get started?"

A sigh.

"Very well then, Lulu," the Ashford magus said after a moment, eyes growing serious. "Recall the source of the flow, dissociating your mind from your body."

'_A blueprint of the body, channels of light leading to the Crest…heat and pressure building building building yearning for release…'_

"Now look at the cardboard box before you, and _shift_…"Milly commanded, as Lelouch's consciousness was thrown out of his body into the empty pizza box, a rather strange perspective, where he lingered for long enough for his body to get used to the perspective—

_Shift!_

—then moving to the next pizza box in line, taking in the difference between an open box and a closed one—

_Shift!_

—from the box to the ringing waterfall, becoming the water itself, feeling the moisture disperse into the air—

_Shift!_

—from there to the shiny pizza tray—from where he was forcibly shifted by the Witch into one of the bite-sized morsels she was picking up and bringing to her mouth.

'_Ack! Need to escape!'_

A hastier shift of consciousness this time—this time to the cell phone that he carried on his body, where he found, where—

'_Hm? I can access the information in this phone? I wonder, can I do more…?'_

RURURU!

"Hm?" Milly said, taking her phone from her jacket, mildly annoyed that she had forgotten to turn it off before the exercise began. "Yes, this is Milly…can I help you?"

"Interesting, I didn't think I could use the ability this way," Lelouch's smug voice came over the phone. "So it seems that transference of consciousness allows the use of the abilities of the host object. This could prove useful…"

From her perch on the beanbag, C.C. smirked, having expected this particular development, as what Lelouch was doing was essentially "possessing" objects, meaning that there was no reason he shouldn't be able to use their abilities to the fullest.

'_And Marianne was able to fully transfer her soul even into other humans, as I recall, so this lesser application of the power should not be unexpected…'_

"Hmm, think you can do this with the Ganymede?" Milly asked curiously, another strange expression crossing her face. "You'd certainly be better at Knightmare piloting than you are now. And where you are now is really a disgrace to the name of Lamperouge."

"Grr…you don't really need to rub it in," the voice of Lelouch responded, as he cut the connection, hanging up.

'_Wait…with this…this power…I can win…' _he thought excitedly, his consciousness leaping out of the phone in his excitement—

_Rustle!_

—and ending up in the blouse of a somewhat annoyed Mana Ryougi, who had just walked into the room, and had seen the path of the prince's soul through judicious use of her eyes, drawing her knife as—

'_What are—'_

—Lelouch's consciousness reeled, pulled back to his flesh and blood body by sudden stimulation of sudden intimate contact with a warm female body, opening his eyes as his mind completed the shut-down aria automatically, switching off his Magic Circuits.

'_Five gates revolving. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.'_

"Magus Lamperouge, please do explain how possessing my blouse was part of your training session," the Satsujinki demanded, her knife drawn as she advanced slowly on the boy. "Unless you'd care for a first-hand demonstration of my…skills…"

"How daring of you, Lulu…using your magic to cop a feel," Milly snorted, chuckling as she looked between assassin and exile. "With all the rumors flying around, I didn't think you were even interested in women."

"Guah?! Milly…you're not helping," Lelouch stated flatly, scrabbling to his feet as the ominous figure of Mana drew closer, closer, ever closer, the deadly smile on her lips resembling those of the bloodthirsty murderers in horror movies. "Look, this was just an accident, I didn't mean to—"

"Ara? So you're saying that I'm not attractive, is that it?" the cold voice of the Satsujinki echoed once more, her tone infused with a liquid helium chill, seeming to drop the temperature of the room to absolute zero. "Such a foolish magus…you need to be…punished."

The sheer power of the killing intent pouring from her froze Lelouch to the spot, as Mana blurred into motion, rushing forward and—

_Thump!_

—flicking her fingers against the exile's forehead, sending him crashing to the floor, as the killer's face returned more or less to normal and she began to laugh.

"Kidding," the Chokushi no Magan adept said in an amused manner much more befitting of a girl her age, rolling her eyes. "Did you actually think I was going to kill you?"

"You were…pretty convincing," Lelouch groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Especially considering the circumstances under which we first met."

"I suppose you have a point there," Mana conceded, nodding once to him, before turning to the Grey Witch to give her report. "The package was delivered to the destination, as per your specifications, C.C."

"Very good, Mana," the immortal intoned, rising from her seat. "Have you made any progress in eliminating the remaining Dead in this city, or hunting down their parent Dead Apostle?"

"A Dead Apostle, eh? I thought as much, when I heard the news about the killings," the Ashford magus muttered, her eyes sharp and intent as she looked at the Satsujinki. "You are positive about this?"

"If being attacked by one's familiars serves as sufficient evidence, then yes," Mana replied, recalling how those wretched creatures had prowled around town each night looking for victims. "I have managed to eliminate those that I have come across, but not the Dead Apostle himself, as he appears to either be in hiding, or simply not in the general area."

"…would someone explain to me what a Dead Apostle is?" Lelouch asked, raising both eyebrows. This was not a term that he'd heard before, and so he looked at the Witch for answers.

"To put it simply, a Dead Apostle is a human who has been turned into a vampire either by magecraft, or the actions of another vampire of like nature," the Grey Witch stated, turning her head away as she spoke. "A being of superhuman reflexes and physical abilities, difficult to injure with conventional weapons, and possessing powerful regenerative abilities that allow them to recover from wounds."

"A vampire…" Lelouch repeated skeptically, finding this a little hard to take in. "Shouldn't we be seeing more then, since those bitten by vampires become vampires themselves?"

"Not all…" C.C. corrected, turning back to face her contractor. "Most of those bitten by a Dead Apostle will simply die, though if the vampire injects some of his own blood into a victim's bloodstream, he can change the corpse into a mindless undead familiar known as The Dead. Of course, in the rare event that the victim is a magus, he or she may well fledge as a vampire."

"As the legends put it, they ingest the blood of living creatures in order to sustain themselves," Milly added, recalling what she had been taught. "They prefer that of virgins, so they go after the young, but…as long as they have blood, they can live."

"…and there's one in Tokyo Settlement?" the exiled prince asked, his face drawn. "Or coming here?"

"Indeed," Mana confirmed, looking between the three others in the room. "That is the only reason for so many of The Dead becoming active—and given that they arrived after we eluded the Magus Killers sent after us, I would imagine that this is one of Britannia's agents."

"How distasteful, that V.V. would dispatch one of those to this land, knowing what it would do," the Grey Witch muttered, her voice low and angry. "But then, Britannia has never cared about collateral damage, has it?"

For a brief moment, Lelouch thought he saw white hot rage flash in Mana's eyes, but as Lelouch looked closer, it was gone, with the Satsujinki simply wearing her standard, neutral expression.

"You are unfortunately correct," Milly commented grimly, rather disgusted by the notion that Dead Apostles would be used as a weapon of war. "One is thankful, however, that there are not more of them, otherwise, surely, Ashford Academy's defenses would be overwhelmed."

"This is true," Mana said, her lips pressed into a thin line as she recalled the last few days. "Still, dealing with the undead familiars has been troublesome enough, since they are scattered around the city, often in the ghettos, where—"

"—they can drink their fill of blood, killing as many as they wish, since those in power do not care about the subject peoples," C.C.'s voice rumbled, with every line of the Witch's lithe form radiating anger. "Speaking of which, it's nearly time for a certain meeting, wouldn't you say, Satsujinki?"

"Yes, so it is," Mana replied, raising an eyebrow. "Come, L.L., it is time for us to meet with your Q-1, who will be our link to the resistance groups."

"You managed to set up a meeting without getting stabbed?" Lelouch asked, wondering just how they had done it. "I would have thought her to be rather careful about her identity."

A moment of silence.

"So she was…" the immortal rejoined, one of her hands rubbing at her throat as she remembered what the fire magus had done at their first meeting. "She did attack me when I confronted her in the bathroom of the Student Council Clubhouse."

Even Milly had the grace to look somewhat surprised at this.

"Confronted her in the…well, I knew she had magical potential, but Kallen is a member of the resistance?" the blonde asked, throwing a sidelong glance at the Witch. "And what do you mean attack?"

"Set on fire through the power of spontaneous combustion…" the Witch replied, lips twisting in annoyance. "She has great talent with that particular ability…"

"Even so, I would think it hard for her to set you on fire, given your high level of power and her inexperience," Milly noted, eyeing the immortal oddly. "So how did she manage it?"

"Physical contact and extreme anger," C.C. said, as realization lit up on Milly's face, the blonde nodding.

"That would do it I suppose…" the blonde murmured, perking up as the mystery was solved. "In any case, you mentioned a meeting?"

"Indeed…Mana, you will go with Lelouch to the park at the settlement's edge," C.C. explained, glancing first at the Satsujinki and then at the Lamperouge magus. "Make sure the two of you look like a couple on a date as you are passing through the settlement, to avert any suspicion, alright?"

"As you command, dear witch," Mana answered with an undercurrent of amusement, moving forward and taking Lelouch's hand in hers. "Alright let's go, L.L….you shouldn't keep a lady waiting, after all."

Lelouch just sighed, flushing lightly as he felt the assassin take his hand, deciding to go along with it.

'_At the very least, she'll protect me from being stabbed—or from being attacked by others. I hope.'_

"Very well then, it seems I am in your care, Mana," the 'prince of Ashford Academy' said, flashing his most charming smile, to which the Satsujinki only laughed.

"I don't see it," she replied, as the two made their way to the lift. "I really don't."

"Don't see what?" Lelouch asked wryly, glancing at the beautiful grim reaper walking beside him.

"Why you have so many fangirls," Mana teased, clearly taking delight in making the contractor somewhat uncomfortable. "Unless they all like your alternate Luluko persona…"

"Ugh, Milly told you about that?" the exile groaned, shaking his head. "I was hoping…"

"Not really…a picture of you in drag is on the splash page of the school's website," the Chokushi no Magan adept replied. "You are apparently listed as '_Miss Ashford Academy._'"

Hearing this, the outcast prince fought the urge to facepalm violently, settling at last for a brief a shake of the head.

'_Why…oh why did I let Milly convince me to join the Student Council…'_

* * *

**Park, Outskirts of Tokyo Settlement**

After leaving the safety of Ashford Academy, Kallen Kozuki had quickly returned home and changed into something besides her school uniform, before proceeding to what had once been called Tokyo Tower with all due speed, as she did not want to be late for her appointment, not when so much was at stake.

'_Though I wish that the Witch had chosen a different spot…'_ the redhead groused, seeing as the damaged Old Tokyo Tower had been converted into the Britannian Victory Memorial Center, a place that made her shudder with revulsion and disgust. _'And I would have thought that she would prefer a less public place, but…'_

Keeping in mind how crowded the museum could be, Kallen had arrived about fifteen minutes early, proceeding inside and looking around, walking briskly through the exhibit halls but finding no sign of the green-haired woman she had met several days prior.

'_Man, and I even showed up early too, so where—'_

"Attention please," blared a voice over the PA system. "Paging Miss Kallen Stadtfeld of Ashford Academy. One of your personal effects has been turned in at the kiosk on the observation deck."

Glancing at her cell phone, she could see that the time was exactly 1600.

'_Well, I suppose that's it…'_

Curious about what had been delivered, Kallen headed to the customer service desk, where the staff member on duty handed her a cellphone, which she accepted gratefully.

_RURURU!_

The phone rang, as Kallen had half expected anyway, though the name on the caller ID was rather unfamiliar.

'_Zero? I don't know a Zero…'_

Still, she answered, only for her eyes to widen as she heard the voice from Shinjuku.

"Glad you still alive, Q-1," the Black Prince related over the phone. "Anyway, given the recent attacks, there's been a change of plans. If you're still interested, please come to the park on the outskirts of the settlement."

With that, 'Zero' hung up, and with nothing better to do, Kallen had exited the Britannian Victory Memorial Center, getting on the train and heading to the park, even though she knew it would take at least half an hour to do so.

'_That's one way to ensure operational security, I suppose,' _the redhead mused, thinking it no surprise that her contact had changed the location to somewhere less public. '_Changing the location at the meeting time, so there's no chance for anyone else to know…or to make sure that I didn't bring anyone else, given that that park is usually deserted, and so it would be easy to take note of any entering.'_

After some time, she had finally arrived at the edge of the park, noting the presence of one dark figure sitting on the bench near the boundary wall, form silhouetted by the afternoon sun, and so she approached with footsteps _tap-tap-tapping _along the concrete walkway, only to find as she got closer, that the lone figure belonged to the enigmatic Lelouch Lamperouge.

'_Eh? What's he doing here…if he's here, 'Zero' probably won't show…'_

"Good afternoon, what brings you here, Vice President?" Kallen inquired in her pseudo-demure persona.

"Oh, just waiting for someone," Lelouch replied quietly, eyeing the ruins beyond the settlement wall. "Unfortunately, she has a habit of being a little late, so I've been here for a while."

"Hah, so the playboy of Ashford was stood up for a date?" the redhead gently mocked, taking a somewhat savage joy in his suffering. "How unexpected…"

An amused chuckle from the lips of the Black Prince, as he glanced over at Kallen and half-smiled.

"No, I wouldn't say that," the exile murmured in answer. "In fact, I think she's rather close by now…"

"Oh, really?" Kallen shot back. "Are you sure you aren't overestimating your charm."

"Well, you showed up, didn't you…Q-1?" the raven-haired exile spoke with a trademark smirk, patting the empty spot beside him on the bench. "Have a seat, we have much to discuss."

It was probably a good thing that Kallen was a consummate actress whose was very used to playing a demure Britannian student as a cover identity—otherwise, she would have likely broken character and started shaking Lelouch Lamperouge. However, given how well that had worked last time when dealing with a certain green-haired witch (who Lelouch was probably working for, if her words could be trusted), it would probably be unwise to get violent. Thus, she took a deep breath, forcing the tension from her muscles as she resisted the urge to snatch up her knife.

"So you were the one in Shinjuku then," the redhead said at last, her bearing and tone completely changed as she smoothed out her skirt and sat down next to the boy, her tone demanding answers, even if she wasn't being violent about it. "And a magus, I take it?"

"So I am," Lelouch admitted, gesturing expansively towards what lay outside the settlement wall. "But then, so are you, Kallen. Both of us are outcasts in a sense, sharing a common enemy that has sucked our lives as dry as the remains of a desiccated city, like that in the distance."

"And why do you oppose Britannia if you're a Britannian?" the part-time terrorist asked of the magus beside her. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"My name is a lie, and so are my public faces—much like yours," Lelouch stated, cutting her off with a harsh voice channeling deep-held anger. "I was not born Lelouch Lamperouge, no…that is a name I have worn only since coming to Japan, as much a lie as 'Eleven' is to someone Japanese. And like you, my true name is one that Britannia would revile, though you at least are not listed in the records as deceased."

"Deceased?" Kallen inquired, glancing over Lelouch's suddenly rigid form.

"They tried to kill me, as well as my sister…just as they killed my mother," the Lamperouge magus hissed, one of his hands balling up into a fist as he recalled those terrible times. "Perhaps the royal family saw my family's magecraft as a threat to their power…I don't know the details, only that for the last seven years I have been forced to hide in a distant land, wearing a mask, unable to change anything…"

"I see…" Kallen murmured, taken aback by the pure anger in the magus' voice, something that she didn't know that the apathetic, diffident fop of Ashford Academy was capable of.

"For seven years, there was nothing I could do," the exile continued, the bitterness in his tones like corrosive venom that could even melt down Knightmare Frames. "Until Shinjuku, when I met…our mutual friend, who awakened my sleeping power, a person that Britannia wants dead even more than any single one of us…"

A brief moment, as Kallen studied the face of Lelouch, taking into account what he had told her, wondering how much of it was true.

"…except perhaps me, if they knew I existed," a serious voice spoke, with both figures turning to see the figure of Mana Ryougi standing behind them, regarding the pair of magi with those disconcerting eyes of hers.

"I was wondering where you had wandered off to," Lelouch commented, after a beat. "I should have known that you'd wait until a convenient moment to appear."

"Well, someone had to make sure the bounded field was set up around the park," the Satsujinki countered, focusing the full force of her gaze on Lelouch, causing him to shrink back slightly. "We don't want to be interrupted by a magus-killer, now do we? Or one of the undead familiars that Kallen and I ran into a couple of day ago…"

The part-time terrorist froze as she remembered that fateful night of revelations once again, when she had learned the rough shape of Mana's abilities, and that she had intended to thank the assassin, but found herself unable to do so.

"Considering that you have both seen me in action, I suppose I should introduce myself properly," the Chokushi no Magan adept continued, looking at the two. "I am called Mana Kokutou, but I am in actuality, Maya Ryougi of the Demon Hunter Organization, a being known by the creatures I hunt as the Satsujinki."

"…a suitable title for you, given the circumstances under which we met," Lelouch said in turn, only mildly surprised, since he had known all but the title and organizational affiliation Demon Hunter Organization part—where there were demons, there were surely those who hunted them, ne? "It is not every day that one has a face to face encounter with death and lives on another day, is it?"

'_Satsujinki…_bloodthirsty killer…_it seems I was right,_' Kallen mused, forcing herself not to react as Mana moved to stand by her side.

"…thank you for the other night," the redhead said simply, unable to speak more.

"Of course," the Chokushi no Magan adept replied, a small smile on the killer's lips. "I could hardly allow you to go out without protection, considering the nature of our enemies, and your awakened status. Speaking of which, you need training in how to use your power…"

"And we will need allies for this war," Lelouch added smoothly, his face grim as he looked into the distance. "For a war it is, between ancient powers, with the war we know merely a front for the clash of mages and demons, as Britannia ruthlessly crushes those in its way to achieve their objectives, to control the powers who will not bow to them. In the end, mere resistance will not allow us to destroy our enemies, to drive them to their knees, to force them to meet our demands…"

"Destroy…?" Kallen questioned, wondering if she had heard Lelouch correctly. Their enemy was an empire that controlled a third of the world, so how—

"Yes, destroy," Lelouch affirmed, with eyes hard and cold as he motioned with his hands. "For that is the promise I made seven years ago, after the invasion: that I would obliterate Britannia. And like any crusade, let us begin with a messiah and a miracle…"

"A miracle?" Kallen repeated, more than a little skeptical now. "And just what do you intend to do?"

Mana just looked on with some amusement, as she had already been filled in on the plan, what with C.C. having a hand in the discussion as well.

"I intend to liberate Suzaku Kururugi, and splinter the ranks of the Purist Faction in the process," Lelouch said in answer, with an evil sounding cackle issuing from his lips. "Not as Lelouch Lamperouge, but as _Zero_, the sole number that Britannia cannot categorize, cannot control! So I ask, will you join me, my Q-1?"

"…you proved yourself in Shinjuku, so I'll follow you this once," Kallen stated. "Show me your power, and we will go from there."

"Of course, for even a messiah must perform miracles in order to be believed…"

**

* * *

**

**En Route to Execution Site, Two Days later**

As the transport bearing the bound and gagged Suzaku Kururugi made its way down the road to the location of the court-martial (with the verdict already known beforehand, as was typical in kangaroo courts, and the sentence as well—a summary execution of the Eleven), Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, leader of the Purist Faction, and acting-Viceroy of Area 11 (having seized control in the wake of General Bartley's death), was rather pleased.

'_What an excellent scapegoat I have found,' _the Margrave thought as he stood the piloting platform of his personal Knightmare, a delighted smirk on his face as he considered the consequences of this show-trial. _'Kururugi's death will pave the way for me to put an end to this practice of granting natives Honorary Britannian status. Equality is evil, after all…'_

Today, there were four Sutherlands escorting the transport, with more lining the road in order to ensure that there would be no successful liberation of Suzaku Kururugi, though the acting viceroy secretly hoped that the Japan Liberation Front or one of the other terrorist groups would try to save the Honorary Britannian, so that he might destroy them on a broadcast that was going out to all of Britannia.

'_Though I do wish that there were people watching from the streets—I do love an audience to pander to , after all,' _the man thought to himself, dissatisfied with the lack of crowds, as his gaze settled upon the all but deserted streets. _'Damn the serial killer, whoever he is, for driving the public away. Most likely a disgruntled Eleven, a filthy animal as all terrorists are…but even without the reaction from the crowd, things will proceed. Indeed, now that I think things through, without spectators, there can be no one for any terrorists to take as hostages to use as a bargaining chip…'_

As the Pureblood Margrave had half-expected, a call came in, reporting an approaching vehicle—with the form of Clovis' personal transport, at which point, the acting-viceroy stopped smiling, ordering the convoy to a halt.

'_Well then, a would-be rescuer has decided to take the stage, eh?' _ Jeremiah sneered, his lips curling into a feral grin. _'Very well then, let them come, and I will show them the futility of their ways…'_

Watching the imitation of Clovis' transport drive directly towards the halted convoy with utter impunity, Lord Jeremiah readied himself for a piece of street theatre, immensely looking forward to crushing the Elevens after the disgrace of Shinjuku.

At last, the imitation of Clovis' car drew to a halt, and the performance began.

"You who dare to desecrate his highness' transport…come out at once!" the Pureblood Margrave thundered towards the vehicle in question, his voice echoing through the empty streets—and picked up by a nearby camera crew. "Face me, face Jeremiah Gottwald!"

'_Well then,'_ a certain magus thought to himself, signaling a certain half-Britannian to begin the pyrotechnics. _'Since the acting-viceroy demands it, so I shall appear. After all, the necessary conditions have been met.'_

_Whoosh!_

Flames erupted from the base of the Britannian flag above the driver's compartment, with the symbol of the Empire and the housing above it burning away to ashes to reveal a masked and caped figure clad in darkness: wearing an elegantly tailored ensemble of a royal purple coat and trousers with gold edging, swirling his cape about dramatically.

It rather resembled nothing so much as a black king on a chessboard.

"Hear me Britannia," the figure declared in an overbearing manner that reminded Gottwald of the Emperor, his harsh baritone echoing out into the streets. "I…am Zero!"

'_This joker is the only one that was foolish enough to come at me?' _Jeremiah thought, mentally sighing. _'Oh well, I'll just have to make the best of things.'_

"Well, 'Zero', you certainly have some nerve to approach us directly," Jeremiah noted, his voice darkly amused, though he was rather disappointed that the he couldn't have caught Tohdoh of Miracles or someone prominent. "But this little show of yours is over, since as you have admitted, you are nothing. Now, first things first, why don't you lose that mask?"

With a snap of his fingers, four Sutherlands moved in to surround the transport on all sides, their guns ready to shoot the moment the order was given. It would have been a simple enough matter simply to gun them down on the spot, but that would not have the same dramatic impact as thoroughly humiliating the terrorist before a national audience, proving how powerless the Eleven scum were to the last.

But the masked man of mystery was unfazed, the mirrored faceplate of his helmet to stare down the acting-viceroy, pointedly ignoring the Knightmares as if they posed no threat to him.

"I'll ask you once, release the prisoner," Zero commanded, the voice pitched just high enough to carry, low enough to intimidate. "Or do you intend to kill an innocent man for your own gain, as Britannia is so wont to do?"

Gottwald mentally revised his estimate of the terrorist's audacity upwards, while revising down his estimate of the same's mental capacity, since there were no mitigating circumstances to prevent the Margrave from simply shooting them.

"Like hell," the Margrave spat, wringing every ounce of dramatic tension from the situation as he could get. "He's charged with high treason for murdering a prince and his entire command staff. And you are in no positions to make demands, Zero…so I repeat, stand down."

"You're mistaken, Jeremiah Gottwald," Zero declared with a bark of harsh laughter, with a flourish of the cape, revealing the purple garments edged with gold beneath. "For how would the man have gotten close enough to the command center to do such a thing? Are your investigators truly so incompetent that they think that that man killed the royal guard as well? Foolishness…"

"What nonsense are—"

But Zero cut off the acting viceroy's protests with a sweep of his arm.

"You have wrong man, Jeremiah Gottwald!" the masked one declared defiantly. "For the true killer, the one who crippled the Britannian forces in Shinjuku, who killed Clovis and his entire command staff – it was I!"

It was all the margrave could do not to step back in shock, unable to believe the blatant audacity of the man before him.

'_This is the assassin? The one who sliced off Clovis' limbs and then shot him through the head, mutilating his body and those of the command staff? What kind of sick individual are we dealing with?'_

Still, the time had come for the inevitable conclusion.

"Then as you have pronounced yourself guilty, let justice be done, traitor!" the Margrave's voice boomed out, looking over to his pilots as—

"Oh, but I am not the traitor here," the masked would-be rescuer said evenly, raising the back of his hand to interrupt the acting-viceroy. "Rather, it is your fellow Purists who are the traitors to Britannia, or did you think that I don't know of Orange?"

"What are you talking about?" Jeremiah asked in puzzlement, now believing that this terrorist was delusional. "What do you mean Orange?"

"Orange is why you will listen to me," the exiled prince began, then shifted to a much softer voice that Gottwald could barely hear.

'_Five gates revolving – locks open.'_

"Jeremiah, you and the pilots of the four Knightmares surrounding my vehicle will do everything in your power to let us go, and your prisoner as well—using lethal force against any who would oppose us," Zero spoke quietly, using his variant of the Unified Language. "For executing the Orange traitors and letting us go is the proof of your true loyalty."

The Margrave's eyes widened as the command took hold, with any resistance proving futile as the masked vigilante's words engraved themselves into Jeremiah's soul, forcing him to comply.

"Yes, I understand," Jeremiah Gottwald replied gruffly, turning to those on the transport. "Release the prisoner!"

"What on earth do you think you are doing, My Lord?" Kewell, one of Gottwald's followers, asked from inside his own Sutherland, but the Margrave ignored him.

"Hand Private Kururugi over to Zero, and let nobody get in his way," the Margrave stated firmly, with his troops moving to comply, thanks to the long honed discipline of the Britannian Army, while some of his higher-ranked subordinates whispered, wondering what the hell was going on. "This is a direct order from your acting-viceroy."

The foot soldiers complied, freeing the prisoner and bringing him to the transport, where a red-haired terrorist in a chauffeur's uniform waited.

_Thunk!_

"No…I can't let this killer go," Kewell snarled from the cockpit of his Sutherland, bringing his assault rifle to bear as—

_Crack-a-crack-a crack-a crack!_

Kewell's Knightmare was blown apart by the weapon of Jeremiah Gottwald's personal Knightmare frame, with even the ejected cockpit block perforated with heavy slugs, killing the pilot that—

"Lord Jeremiah," a voice asked over the radio. "What are you?"

"So it's to be a mutiny is it? You all are traitors after all," the bombastic Margrave spat, his voice booming. " Men, with me…we will execute the traitors! You who are traitors… face _**the storm of my loyalty!**_"

The four Knightmares that had surrounded the vehicle swerved to confront the others of the Purist faction, their assault rifles filling the air with shrapnel and lead as they began their attack.

_Crack-a-crack-a crack-a crack!_

"Q-1, get us out of here," Zero ordered, turning to look at a more distant Knightmare. "Deploy chaff smoke and report to the designated passageway!"

"As you command, Zero," Kallen acknowledged, proceeding to do just that.

_Fsh! Whirr!_

A cloud of coloured smoke hissed from the vehicle, obscuring the sight of all present as the vehicle blew off the false panels concealed in its side, revealing a much slimmer dual-motorcycle unit that revved away as a bomb in the false transport exploded, destroying the bridge behind them to cut off pursuit, leaving the majority of Britannian forces struggling to the death against one another.

Jeremiah Gottwald was an elite pilot, after all, far better than most of his subordinates, and he left carnage in his wake as his group of Knightmares wrought destruction upon their former escorts with a cry of "ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

"Zero, Knightmares!" Kallen reported, warning the masked vigilante of the presence of enemies in pursuit.

'_I do hate Britannian persistence…but I do appreciate the weapons they have given me,'_ Lelouch sighed, turning to look at the lead Sutherland, dissociating mind from body and flooding his magic circuits with mana as—

_Shift!_

'_And with this, the tasks at hand have been cleared!'_

_Crack-a-crack-a crack-a crack!_

Tracers of heat and light blazed from the possessed Sutherland's assault cannon, as it whirled upon its former allies, hosing them down with molten lead before they could move away.

"Wha?!"

_BOOM!_

"How the…Auuughhhh!"

"Another traitor in our—guuuahh!"

The result was an orgy of fire and destruction, as this rogue Sutherland went on a killing spree, destroying its unprepared battlegroup—and standing its ground against pursuers that came at it, now seeing this as a greater threat than the terrorist.

'_And now…I will show you…chaos.'_

Enemy knightmares rushed in, guns blazing, their landspinners whirring with speed as the sought to destroy this traitor in their midst as a single word came over the speakers of their radio—

"Sayonara."

_Click!_

Compartments in the lower torso of lone Sutherland opened, as five Chaos Mines—all that it had carried—erupted all at once, breaking open and unleashing a storm of molten projectiles that carved through all the Knightmares present, a barrage that destroyed the remaining pursuers—and the possessed Knightmare, as Lelouch's consciousness snapped back to his body.

'_Five gates revolving. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.'_

Quickly, before his circuits could backflow with pain from the destroyed object, Lelouch switched off his Magic Circuit, observing the fire in the distance, with his mirrored mask betraying nothing of his expression.

"All hostiles have been eliminated," the masked vigilante reported, breathing hard. "Proceed to the rendezvous point…"

"Of course, Zero…"

'_And so the seeds of chaos are sown, and the in-fighting will begin…hopefully Jeremiah Gottwald and the four frames took out a good number of my enemies in the reckless assault, before they were killed in turn …'_

* * *

**Abandoned Theatre, Shinjuku Ghetto**

After the successful rescue of Suzaku Kururugi, Zero had retreated to the Shinjuku Ghetto, where he had met the remains of the Kallen's resistance group, all of which were nearly incredulous that the masked vigilante had been able to pull this off—and more to the fact, had somehow convinced the Margrave to go charging to his death.

"How did you do it?" Tamaki asked, his jaw dropped in disbelief. "I mean, there was nothing stopping him from shooting you."

"Nothing except the truth," Zero answered simply. "I simply filled him in on an essential piece of information he had been missing—shattering his illusions, revealing to him the truth that his comrades were traitors. The rest was the man's essential nature as an honorable individual."

Which was a lie, of course, given that what he did was essentially "engrave" a false truth into Gottwald's soul, forcing him to obey, but knowledge of that should be kept at a minimum. Magecraft was a secret, after all, or at least, was supposed to be.

"Well, I have to admit that nobody else could've pulled that off," Ohgi replied, giving the man a slight bow. "Not the Japanese Liberation Front, certainly not me. Will you help us then, Zero?"

"Of course, for wherever oppressors abuse their power by attacking those who are powerless, I shall intervene," the harsh baritone of Lelouch Lammperouge echoed in the chamber, as the man nodded and then walked away, to the disused theatre area where Kururugi had been freed, with a certain assassin watching from the shadows.

_Tap-tap-tap-swish!_

Private Kururugi looked up to see the approaching form of Zero, the masked man who he somehow knew was responsible for the slaughter on the bridge.

"They have treated you roughly, I see," Zero spoke without preamble, preempting any attempt at conversation. "Condemning an innocent, and torturing him too. As you can see, Britannia is rotten."

"So, is it true?" Suzaku asked, his green eyes blazing in the moonlight. "Are you really the one who killed Prince Clovis?"

"Heh," Lelouch responded from behind his mirrored mask. "Of course, this is war. Why wouldn't I kill an enemy commander?"

"And what did you do on the bridge, causing the acting-viceroy to turn upon his own men?" the Honorary Britannian demanded.

"I simply told him the truth of things, and he took matters into his own hands," the masked man replied, holding back a chuckle. "In the end, the serpent of Britannia devoured itself, like a pit of vipers fighting over a scrap of food. The Empire is corrupt, rotten to the core. Will you not join me in destroying it?"

A moment's hesitation.

"Maybe you're right, but..." Suzaku trailed off, groping for words. "But this nation, it can be changed for the better, and from within."

"Hah," Zero barked incredulously. "Changed, you say? And what can you do as one who can merely follow orders?"

But Suzaku stood firm in his beliefs.

"Any ends gained through contemptible means aren't worth anything," the Honorary Britannian insisted. "Rules are rules, after all, and change must come from within. That is why I cannot approve of terrorism, why I cannot approve of you."

"And yet you approve of the Britannian army, whose means include slaughtering thousands, turning cities into a bloodbath to get at a small group of terrorists?" Lelouch replied, his tone scathing as he considered the hypocrisy of Kururugi. "You would work for an empire that is stagnant, that gains simply _by_ reprehensible means? Tell me, why are you even in the army?"

"To stop people from dying," Suzaku's voice rang out, glaring at the masked man as he turned on his heel and began to walked away, refusing Zero in action as well as words. "I have to go, my court-martial begins in an hour. I'd try to bring you in, but you'd just end up killing me. Even so, I suppose I should thank you... for saving me."

"So be it," Zero intoned, knowing the futility of trying to reason with an idiot, from his long experience with his childhood friend. "But should you survive this day, you owe me a debt of honor that you must repay."

Suzaku Kururugi, son of former Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi, did not even dignify that with a response as his footsteps faded away into the distance, disappearing from sight and sound.

"I'm impressed that he hasn't inverted yet," Mana's cool voice spoke from the shadows, cutting like a blade through the awkward silence. "Though I suppose it is his moral code that keeps him from doing so."

"Inverted?" Lelouch inquired, mirrored mask turning to the direction of the sound.

'_Ah…she hides well in the shadows. Had she not spoken, I would not have realized she was even there…'_

"Yes, as those with demon blood are prone to do in times of great stress," the Satsujinki replied, looking off into the distance. "In which they take on the physical characteristics of their ancestry—helping them to survive. "

"So you're saying…"

"Yes, that boy has the blood of an oni flowing through him…which likely provides him with superhuman strength and agility," the assassin explained, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as moonlight fell across her face. "I would not be surprised if he has already inverted once or twice before, becoming a murderer…"

The rest that night was silence, as television programs one and all broadcast news of Jeremiah Gottwald's rampage, which had ended in a firestorm that utterly destroyed the Purist Faction, with the acting-viceroy himself eventually overwhelmed by reinforcements, sacrificing himself to slay more of the "traitors" around him.

_'Not quite as good as personally killing him, but just as satisfying...'_ Kallen thought to herself as she watched the news, along with the rest of her resistance cell. _'Zero came through after all...'_

_

* * *

**A/N: **And so, Zero awakens, charging out of an inferno, as demons are wont to do. Thanks for reading and have a happy holidays, all!_


	8. Murder Study

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Lamperouge Residence, Ashford Academy**

While waiting for the return of Lelouch Lamperouge from whatever he might be doing (though Milly who rather enjoyed a slight bit of misdirection, let it slip that the exile was probably out on a date…rather like throwing gasoline on the fire of the overactive imaginations of Nunnally and Sayoko), three figures sat around a small wooden table in the Lamperouge residence's sitting room, watching the news as footage of Zero's dramatic appearance and the "Orange Purge" was broadcast again and again, with this shocking turn of events pushing even the serial murders from the airwaves.

After all, it wasn't every day that a member of the nobility, much less an acting viceroy, went on a rampage, taking a small unit of Knightmares and carving a swathe of devastation into the ranks of the Britannian military (unless one was the Knight of Ten, in which case bloody rampages through friend and foe alike were to be expected). And hearing about this incident, Nunnally was reminded of the war seven years ago, praying that her brother and his "date", whoever that might be, had not been caught in the crossfire.

Bullets and shrapnel were rather indiscriminate about who they struck down if one happened to get in their way, after all…

"Milly, you don't think my brother got caught up in that, do you?" Nunnally asked fretfully, worry evident on her face as she nervously fingered the mobile phone in her lap. "I tried calling him, but he didn't answer…"

The Ashford magus was silent for a moment, before smiling and patting Nunnally gently on the head. She was rather fond of the young girl, after all, and didn't want to unsettle her.

"Oh, don't worry," Milly replied dryly, her lips twitching ever so slightly. "I'm sure Lelouch is fine. After all, he isn't the type to get entangled in anything inconvenient—at least when it's not one of my events."

'_Which has the advantage of not actually being a lie, since he only instigated this...an impressive feat, though one that might draw the attention of magus killers,' _the magus thought to herself, remembering that it was best never to outright lie, and that the best misdirection was woven utterly of truth. _'Even so, magi are hard to locate when their Magic Circuits are not in use, and Lelouch has given us a rather nice diversion for now…'_

"You're right," the disabled princess said, chuckling as she remembered some of the stranger events that Milly had put on, most notably the cross-dressing beauty pageant, where Lelouch had won first place. "Lelouch wouldn't do something like that. But even so…"

_Creak!_

With a slight squeaking of hinges, the front door opened, as the bickering duo of Lelouch Lamperouge and Mana Ryougi entered the apartment, the magus leaning on the assassin with an arm around her shoulders, with the assassin keeping him upright with an arm about the waist, both of them taking in their surroundings with a glance as they exchanged verbal barbs.

To any outsider, they would look rather like a loving couple—a fact that amused Milly to no end.

'_He should have learned by now that I will take advantage of every opportunity to tease him that I can.'_

"I'm back," Lelouch called, but before any of the occupants could greet him in turn, another voice interceded.

"You know, normally the gentleman is supposed to escort a lady to her home, instead of the other way around, L.L.," the Satsujinki groused, shaking her head as she helped the exile along, prodding his chest with a pale finger. "Then again, you have proved quite thoroughly that you are no gentleman. Those grossly exaggerated reports were wishful thinking from your fangirls, I suppose."

"I beg your pardon," Lelouch retorted, stepping back and giving a flamboyantly mocking bow. "I did take the time to walk our other companion home…and you're not exactly a lady yourself, are you?"

"Well, that's not saying much coming from _Miss Ashford Academy, _is it, Luluko?" Mana rejoined with a huff, tossing her flowing ebon hair as the two walked to the center of the room. "Hmph. Don't get the wrong idea…it's not like I'm doing this because I like you or anything."

A somewhat bemused Milly Ashford raised an eyebrow as she watched this exchange, resolving not to let a prime opportunity to tease the exiled prince pass her by.

"First you declare your love for C.C. and now you're intimate with another girl, Lulu?" the blonde chided, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes at the amateur magus. "How _utterly_ shameless of you…"

At those words, Nunnally turned to face Lelouch, shock written all over her innocent features.

"You were with another girl, big brother?" the exiled princess said with dismay and disappointment. "Whatever happened to your pledge to stay by Miss C.C.'s side? Did you forget about that…"

On very rare occasions, Lelouch (very guiltily) found himself thankful that Nunnally was blind, meaning that he could cast a death glare at someone without his sister knowing about it. This happened to be one of those times.

"Of course I haven't forgotten, Nunnally," Lelouch answered smoothly, glaring at Milly for a moment before putting on his most amiable expression, beckoning for Mana to step forward. "Nunnally, I'd like you to meet Mana, a good friend of C.C.'s…the one that we were just talking about the other day. She asked me to help her run some errands today, since it's not exactly safe for a _delicate girl _to go alone, with a bloodthirsty killer on the loose."

In lieu of laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of that statement (which Mana found to be a very tempting option at the moment), the Chokushi no Magan adept settled for elbowing the Black Prince in the ribs, turning her eyes upon the exiled princess.

"And you must be Nunnally…it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Mana greeted warmly, putting a smile into her words. "I thought it was getting late, so I came by to drop your brother off before running a few more errands."

"Thank goodness," the former Eleventh Princess of the Empire breathed in relief. "I thought that maybe he had been caught up in all the uproar Zero caused the settlement—it's all over the news."

"Uproar?" Lelouch repeated, raising an eyebrow, the conversation having caught his interest. "I'm afraid I haven't heard much about it, since I've been running around all day, taking care of things."

Not literally running of course, since the exile's stamina would have given out long before now.

"So you were," Milly responded with a thin smirk, eyeing the prince with knowing amusement. "How very nice to hear that tonight's incident didn't throw your plans off schedule. I take it you had fun on your 'date?'"

Hearing the word 'date', Sayoko leaned forward intently, as the ninja maid considered how to incorporate a love triangle into her cellphone novel—since Lelouch was a character model for it, after all.

"It was not entirely unpleasant, though I would not call it a date," Mana replied, stepping back towards the door. "We simply visited the park on the outskirts of the settlement, lit some fireworks, drove about the settlement, and then visited a local theatre."

Again, all of this was strictly true, given that the duo had visited the park, incited the lighting of some spectacular "fireworks", and had gone to an abandoned theatre in the Shinjuku Ghetto, among other things. Still, to one who didn't know the circumstances…

"That certainly sounds interesting," Nunnally commented, smiling broadly now as her imagination ran away with her. "I'm just glad that both of you are well, given the dangerous circumstances."

At the word 'dangerous', Lelouch glanced over to Mana and raised a quizzical eyebrow, giving her a _look, _as the Satsujinki was the single deadliest individual that the exile was aware of—a look that the Chokushi no Magan adept returned with full force, given that the exile just happened to be _Zero_, the cause of tonight's events—before both turned away from each other.

"Ah well, I suppose it turned out ok, ne, L.L.?" Mana asked gently, gingerly stepping back from the amateur magus, making sure he could stand well enough. "In any case, I'm afraid I have to go—as much as I would enjoy staying and talking, there are some matters I need to take care of. It was been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nunnally. And of course, to see you both, Milly and Sayoko. "

Nodding briefly to all of them, and casting a wave over her shoulder, the Satsujinki left, meaning that the attention of all three females remaining in the room was now focused on Lelouch—exactly as the Chokushi no Magan adept had planned it.

'_I should have expected this, since she and C.C. both have a knack for slipping away when they wish…'_ Lelouch mused briefly, before drawing himself up to his full height and giving his guest and sister a tired smile. _'Or is it a knack for inconveniencing me whenever they feel like it?'_

"I'm afraid I'm feeling rather worn out after everything today, so I'm going to turn in early, I think," the outcast prince declared, pointing and beckoning for Milly to follow him. "We'll talk tomorrow, alright? Good night, Nunnally. Good night, Sayoko. And Milly…could I talk to you in private for a moment?"

"Good night, big brother," Nunnally said with a smile. "Get plenty of rest."

"Good night, Master Lelouch," Sayoko spoke, with a deferential nod.

"Of course, Lulu," the blonde said with a wry smile, getting up and following the prince as they made their way to his chambers.

Once there, Lelouch collapsed upon his bed with a muffled groan, letting his composed mask drop, his breath growing ragged as his face betrayed the pain he was feeling.

"What happened, Lelouch?" Milly inquired softly but firmly, as she sat down beside him, resting his head on her lap and placing a hand on his forehead. "Some of your circuits seem to have suffered feedback damage… did you try using your consciousness to possess something more complex than you're used to?"

A painful wince, as the exile nodded slightly.

"Does a Knightmare count?" Lelouch replied, matching question with question.

The Ashford magus only harrumphed on hearing that, rolling her eyes.

'_Guts,' _Milly invoked with a sigh, causing an intricate design of blue light to appear, running down her left arm from shoulder to hand, as her Thaumaturgical Crest was infused with magical energy. _'Time to invoke a healing spell, I suppose, though his Crest should help his Circuits to repair themselves….'_

"Let me guess, it was destroyed while your consciousness was still inside it?" Milly asked, shaking her head as she gave her friend a lopsided smile. "Well, that explains the damage, since it's the same sort as you accrued after your initial use of magic—when the bridge you possessed was destroyed. Try to be careful about things like this, alright? If you damage your Circuits past a certain extent, even I won't be able to heal you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lelouch murmured, as the drowsiness of an induced healing sleep began to overtake him, and he closed his eyes at last. "For what it's worth, thanks…"

"Of course, Lulu," Milly said with a wistful smile, looking off into the distance. "I'd hardly be a friend if I didn't tell you that much, since you've entered this dangerous world of magic."

"Barely so—compared to the rest of you, I'm still but a zero, as noted by my accidental possession of certain articles of clothing," the exile admitted in a rare moment of candor. "To think that the war and world I knew was only the veneer for a greater mystery…"

"At least it was only the blouse, though you could try getting into my skirt if you want," the blonde rejoined, brushing Lelouch's forehead with a bit of magical energy as the Lamperouge magus groaned. "And now we know more of each other's secrets, don't we Zero?"

"So we do…so we do, at that."

And as the exiled prince drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard the soothing aria of an unfamiliar lullaby, of sweet voice and the scent of blood, a hymn for the crimson moon.

* * *

**Akihabara Electric Town, Chiyoda Ghetto **

After escorting the Lamperouge magus to his residence (a regrettably necessary task, since Lelouch was still incapable of defending himself from possibly supernatural threats), the Satsujinki had headed out to another of the ghettos around Tokyo Settlement, her trusty cherry-red Vespa carrying her at breakneck speed through the subway tunnels towards the site of a likely infestation of the vampire's zombie-like familiars—with a certain rebel uniform clad redhead held somewhat awkwardly in her lap.

"Tell me again, Mana," a somewhat tired Kallen griped, wondering if the assassin would even listen. "Where are we going? And why didn't use the other motorcycle, the one with enough room for both of us to sit normally?"

'_After Zero's performance, a refuge in audacity, if I ever saw one—albeit one that managed to rescue Suzaku Kururugi from the cavalcade while wiping out most of the Purist faction—I thought the night was over…'_ the redhead thought to herself, wishing for nothing more than a proper night of rest. _'But, since Mana appeared in my room and informed me that it was time for our first training session, I guess I should listen…I'm the one who wanted answers, after all.'_

_Vrr! Skiid!_

No response, as the Chokushi no Magan adept brought the Vespa to a halt in the subway tunnels, helping the redhead to dismount from the motorized scooter before she did the same, glancing about the tunnel with eerily glowing eyes as she unsheathed a deadly looking combat knife, posture and poise altered instantly as if she herself had become a drawn blade.

Seeing this familiar (and rather unnerving) sight, Kallen flinched, taking a step back involuntarily as the Satsujinki walked up beside her, looking towards the stairs that would lead out of the subway tunnels.

"You remember the creature you fought several nights ago, correct?" the assassin asked, already knowing the answer. "The undead ghoul that you were forced to burn with your abilities?"

A curt nod, as the redhead tensed defensively—that was an experience that the redhead recalled vividly and would rather not repeat.

"It would seem that there is a nest of those here in Akihabara," Mana said briefly, noting her companion's startled response without needing to look as she attuned her senses to the world around her. "I have already eliminated the ghouls in Shinjuku and Saitama, but there's a larger presence here, as well as in some of the other ghettos…"

"But none in the Settlement itself?" Kallen asked, only to receive a look that effectively meant "What do you think?", as realization dawned. "You mean…"

But her remark was cut off by the killer's brusque reply—

"It is as you suspect," the Satsujinki answered with a disturbingly calm smile. "The magus that created these undead familiars is using the ghettos as a place for his creations to feed, allowing him to build his own mana reserves in relative secrecy, since the Britannian authorities will not take notice of dead or missing Japanese…and any rumors of unnatural happenings will be dismissed by most as superstitious nonsense."

Kallen felt righteous anger rise within her breast at upon hearing this, a strange heat suffusing her body upon learning of yet another example of how her people had been trampled on, abused by those with power.

"I thought so…you can only use your abilities when you are incensed, due to your Origin," Mana observed, noting the subtle change in the air as she took two objects from the cargo compartment of the Vespa and tossed them to the redhead. "Here, take these."

Seeing the objects coming at her in a blur of red, Kallen's reflexes kicked in as she deftly snatched them from the air, find them to be—

"Eh, what are…?"

—fingerless gloves apparently wrought of some kind of flexible reptile hide.

"A gift from my green-haired associate for you to help you better control your abilities—and prevent yourself from being burned," the Satsujinki explained shortly, eyes darting about as she started briskly up the stairs. "Put them on, you will need them for today's training."

"And what exactly is that going to be?" Kallen demanded, as she followed after a moment's delay, pulling on the gloves without hesitation. "Don't tell me you're going to ask me to fight off all of the ghouls by myself."

The redhead had said this last bit lightly, intending it as a joke, only to be unnerved when the assassin just kept walking, turning to regard the part-time terrorist with a strange expression.

"What can I say?" Mana remarked, face betraying nothing other than professional detachment. "You have some physical skills, and you could certainly use the practice."

Kallen froze in her tracks, glaring at the assassin—who returned—and outmatched that glance with her own eerie gaze, two different shades of blue meeting one another in the gloom of the underworld passage.

"…you're joking, right?" the half-Britannian asked at last, hoping that it was so, even as the heat inside her gave way to ice-cold dread and trepidation. "Aren't you better suited to the job?"

'_From the streets above, there is an overwhelming sense of impending death, a sensation that is unmistakable to any living being. I can sense hunger…and the fact that if I go up there alone, I will die…'_

A few more moments of uncomfortable silence, with the two figures staring at one another, before at last, the tension was broken by a soft chuckle.

"My apologies," the Ryougi said gently, a slight smile crossing her lips. "That was somewhat tasteless of me, wasn't it? In any case, your concerns are noted, so I will simply have you will assist me in eliminating the ghouls."

"What is to be my role then?" Kallen asked, her face grim with determination as she stepped past the Satsujinki, emerging from the stairwell onto the deserted streets above. "Eliminating any ghouls that you happen to miss?"

That _was _what her role had been last time, though—

"Not exactly what I had in mind, since killing them is the easy part," the voice of the assassin carried from behind her, filled with dark amusement. "The chief difficulty with eliminating these infestations is rooting them out, which is where you come in. Since the ghouls find their prey by homing in on their life force, and since mana _is _life force in a sense, instead of us finding them, they will be drawn to us."

'_Using C.C. is not an option, since she would attract magus killers with her power, L.L. cannot defend himself, and the Ashford magus is needed in the Settlement in case an enemy magus should arrive. Which leaves K.K. as my only available lure, capable of close combat, but not capable of being sensed through all of Tokyo if she were to unseal her power…'_

"Wait…you're using me as _bait?!" _the redhead hissed, indignant rage flaring within as—

"Good…your anger will help you to survive, as that is the key to drawing upon your power," Mana noted approvingly, her eyes narrowing. "Especially as your Origin is Strife, meaning that your full potential is awakened only when in the grip of strong emotion. Now come, K.K., there is much to be done."

_Flap!_

The rustling of fabric in the wind, as the Chokushi no Magan adept brushed past Kallen out into the moonlit world, knife in hand as she sniffed the air, listening for even the smallest vibrations that would indicate the presence of others.

'_Better the devil I know than the devil I don't, I suppose…'_ the redhead sighed, as she, too stepped forward towards the sound of guttural growling in the distance, as the wind carried upon it the stench of rotten bodies and the metallic scent of fresh spilled blood. _'Someone has to save the people living here after all…'_

* * *

**C.C.'s Atelier, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

After making sure that her childhood friend had safely entered a healing sleep after his rather reckless use of magecraft earlier in the night, Milly Ashford decided to pay the Grey Witch a visit, reasoning that it might be easier to get some answers out of the mysterious green-haired magus when C.C.'s assassin was not present.

'_As the magus charged with the protection of Ashford Academy and all within…and as someone who simply likes knowing secrets, I am rather curious as to what C.C.'s abilities are,'_ the blonde thought to herself, having noticed some oddities about the other woman. _'Given that a sealing designation was issued for her, her area of specialization was likely seen as a threat to the Royal Family, which took over leadership of the Mage Association roughly 60 years ago—a view only confirmed by the events of Shinjuku.'_

Magi powerful enough to create a flare of mana that could be felt kilometers away were uncommon, at best, and the Ashford magus knew of none who could escape an encounter with a team of magus killers _unscathed_, since magus killers were practitioners of magecraft trained from childhood to kill other magi. One or two, yes, but magus killers, as irregulars in the Britannian Army, never worked in ones or twos…

'_I suppose that C.C. could have left most of the fighting to Mana, the girl who bears the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception—a fearsome power that allows the user to see and bring about an end to anything that exists, but that doesn't seem to fit her style...and the second ripple of energy from Shinjuku would argue against it.' _

Still, Milly reflected, there were other ways to learn about a person's abilities if one was faced with someone rather reluctant to disclose them…or so she thought to herself as she rode the lift down to the subterranean levels that the Witch had turned into her atelier, with the door opening upon an expanse of mist and fog that the Ashford magus did not remember being there, with—

_Whirr! Swish!_

—the sound of weapons slicing through air echoing in the distance, growing louder and louder as the blonde made her way through the mist-filled corridor towards the central chamber, an artificial cavern ringed by artificial waterfalls, with runes bounding the perimeter and—

_Slash! Twirl! _

—C.C. dressed in what seemed to be a prisoner's straitjacket, caught up in the midst of kata of some sort, runes glowing on her hands as she wove an intricate dance of blades, wielding six thin swords with strange hilts (three in each hand, held between the fingers), her lithe form moving with deadly grace as she battled imaginary opponents, the Black Keys seemingly extensions of her fingers as they rent the air with feral-sounding hisses.

"How nice to have a visitor at this time of night," the Witch remarked without pausing in her routine or turning to look at the Ashford magus, noting the presence of her observer by the minor shift of air changes to the temperature of the room. "So…how is he?"

'_Very perceptive…' _Milly thought, raising an eyebrow. As the blonde had not yet crossed the perimeter of the room, she should not have been detected by C.C.'s bounded field—and she had done her utmost to conceal her presence. _'Unless the mist itself was a form of bounded barrier—a rather clever one, at that, since even a wind mage cannot move through that without some disruption of the fog.'_

"Out cold," the blonde said out loud, crossing her arms as she observed the fluid motions of the Witch with a frown. _'She has to be older than she appears…since weapons like those would require a great deal of training to use effectively. Not a moment's hesitation in her movements, not a single excessive step or waver…and she doesn't even seem to be breathing hard. Quite a contrast with her usual behavior of lounging around and eating pizza…'_ "Once again, he's in a healing sleep, after taking feedback damage from the destruction of an object his consciousness possessed."

_Whirr! Fsh! _

"Hmph…I expected as much after his rather theatrical performance," the immortal commented dryly, blades flashing as she whirled and ducked and lunged. "Though given that that is exactly what a magus is _not_ supposed to be, he should sow a bit of confusion in the homeland. An interesting choice of masked identity as well…very symbolic in meaning, both as a number and since Britannia claims to fear nothing."

_Click-Snap!_

From inside her jacket, Milly withdrew a small silver cylinder, pressing a button on its side as the springloaded interior shot outwards, revealing itself to be a telescoping metal quarterstaff, which the schoolgirl inclined towards the Witch, who turned in interest at this new development.

"Might I interest you in a friendly spar, C.C.?" the blonde asked, raising a curious eyebrow. "Limited to our weapons and magic affecting one's body, of course?"

'_While observing a person's motions is an effective way to learn about them, the best way to learn about a person's unknown combat abilities is to fight against him or her…' _the Ashford magus recalled, holding her staff defensively across her body as she waited for the woman in white to answer. _'Besides which, this is a rather defensive weapon, and one I have trained with since I awakened as a magus. I think I can give a fair accounting of myself…'_

She didn't have to wait for long.

"An interesting proposal," the Grey Witch replied, responding to the inquiry by pausing in her dance and turning to Milly, saluting the other with the Black Keys in her right hand. "I suppose I could use the practice."

"Somehow, I doubt that," the blonde remarked, saluting in turn and concentrating as she activated her magic circuit with the word _'Guts'_. "Even so, I look forward to it."

The distance between them was five meters – for both of them, such a distance was all but meaningless.

_Whoosh!_

In the next instant, the forms of both magus and witch _blurred, _as the two sprang at each other like twin gusts of wind, weapons in their hands carving silver arcs through the air as one end of Milly's metal staff thrust viciously towards the Witch, a feint that at the last moment was replaced by a whirling blow that—

_Clang!_

—was deflected by the shorter but faster Black Keys in C.C.'s hands, with the Witch launching herself forward in the momentary, trying to breach the Ashford magus' circle of control as—

_Skid! Skitter!_

—Milly flipped backwards, running magic through her Crest as she reinforced her legs and arms to let her match her opponent's superior speed while keeping away from the Grey Witch's shorter blades, countering with a sweeping blow to the head—

_Fsh! Clang! _

—caught between the three Black Keys in C.C.'s left hand, the _**Uruz**_ rune of strength glowing on the gloves she wore as the green-haired Witch gave a mighty _twist _to disarm her opponent, striking with her free hand to—

_Hiss! Screech!_

—strike at nothing, as the blonde fed mana into her weapon, causing the ensnared end to retract, pulling the Grey Witch off balance as Milly rolled aside, evading the Black Keys. While a long weapon like a staff could be ensnared and stopped due to its longer reach (though the longer reach also made it powerful defensively), the advantage of a _telescoping_ staff that could be retracted and extended at will, was that it was in effect a variable length weapon that could catch an opponent by surprise.

'_But is it enough of an advantage?'_

_Whirr!_

Evidently not, as a breeze brushed past Milly's forehead as C.C.'s Black Keys came within millimeters of striking her, with the blonde being forced on the defensive. Reinforcing her arms and legs for greater speed, the Ashford magus sprang back, leaping into the air and spinning about to counter the expected pursuit as—

_Click-Snap!_

—once again, the staff extended explosively, in a blinding thrust fast and powerful enough to knock out most opponents before they could react.

_Thwack!_

Then again, most opponents would not have the advantage of reflexes enhanced by rune magecraft, as C.C. demonstrated by twisting in midair and torquing her body to avoid the thrust, lashing out not with her weapons, but with a smashing thrust—

"Guh!"

—that Milly managed to bring her staff around to block, though the force of impact still slammed into her, knocking the magus to the ground with a deafening c_rash!_

'_Thankfully, my body is reinforced to deal with this light level of injury…'_

In the next moment, the Ashford magus recovered to her feet, staff held defensively across her body once more, as she spotted C.C. still five meters away, not having pursued…a fact that rather unnerved the blonde, as the Witch was essentially conceding the advantage of distance, having determined that she would be able to close easily enough without attacking when her opponent was on the ground. Black Keys were speedy weapons, and C.C. had not survived thousands of years of combat by being easily taken by surprise.

'_These first few blows…we've only been testing each other so far…'_

_Thud!_

Slamming her feet against the metal floor, Milly sprang forward explosively, thrusting and sweeping her weapon forward, with C.C. simply redirecting the blazing fast thrusts by hitting the approaching rod to create openings, ones that the blonde had to react to with quick footwork, as they moved back and forth across the chamber in an elegant duel.

"You're…holding back. Not moving as quickly as usual," the Ashford magus noted, bringing her weapon down with a powerful stroke against C.C.'s wrist—one that would continue on to strike the body even if she pulled her hand aside—

_Whoosh!_

—but hitting only air, as the Grey Witch twisted out of the way, the Black Keys in her other hand thrusting towards—

_Clang!_

—it didn't matter, as those thin swords were blocked by a spinning staff as a shield, forcing the green-haired woman backwards, lest she be struck in the face of the side, landing graceful on her feet as she faced her opponent.

"As are you. Nicely done reinforcement, by the way," C.C. commented wryly, her weapons extending outwards like overgrown claws, almost a part of her body as she _moved_, runes blazing as she jumped, hurtling over the Ashford hair and whirling in midair to bring the weapons in both hands down upon the blonde at once.

_Clash! Crunch!_

Though Milly (barely) managed to block with her long metal quarterstaff, the double blow still staggered her, with the blonde forced backwards several steps, as she counterattacked, swinging for the Witch's ribs with burning spirit—a strike from range that would not allow the opponent to retreat simply by stepping back—

_Clang!_

—only to be blocked once again as the Witch countered and Milly backed off, the clashing sounds of colliding weapons echoed through the chamber, blending with the sound of running water like well orchestrated music.

"I do need something to keep up with your rune magic," the magus mentioned, trying hard to prevent the Witch from approaching with a flurry of blows, though the immortal simply advanced using her fanned out blades as a razor-sharp shield. "Though even that should not allow you to defeat several Magus Killers, especially if they are using Origin Bullets - certain death for any normal magus."

'_She's fast… all I can do is defend for the moment…' _

"You have a point," came the simple and enigmatic reply, as the Grey Witch struck with power that one would not think that she possessed from looking at her.

A few more blows were exchanged by both sides, probing, testing the strength of the opponent's defenses, and then—

'_Well, let's see how she reacts to my finisher, since I have been concealing my weapon's full ability until now!'_

_Fwoosh!_

With determination blazing in her eyes, Milly ran magical energy through her weapon as it was swung, unleashing a powerful shockwave of wind towards C.C. as—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! _

—the Witch was hurled into the air, where she tossed away the swords in her right hand like bullets, in silver streaks that shot unerringly away from Milly, with the blonde intending to leap forward and land the final blow, forcing the immortal to yield, but—

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

—found herself paralyzed, unable to budge either her body or her weapon.

'_Wait…I _can't move?!_ What magecraft is this?_' the Ashford magus thought, glancing with her eyes to see that the thrown swords had skewered the _shadows _of her and her weapon, freezing her in mid-movement— with a second set of three Black Keys held only millimeters from her face by an impassive Grey Witch, as amber eyes bore into blue.

"So…do you yield?" C.C. asked quietly, a slight smirk evident on her features.

"It appears I have been outmatched," the Ashford magus conceded, announcing her defeat. "Thus, I yield…again."

With that, C.C. withdrew the threat of her Black Keys, dematerializing the blades of those in her hand, leaving only the hilts—and doing the same to those embedded in the shadow. With the power binding her released, Milly was able to move again, retracting her staff to its more compact form as a clear sign of concession.

"I thank you for a rather enjoyable sparring session," the immortal returned, smoothing out her slightly disheveled clothes, retrieving magical energy from her runes, causing them to fade, as she nodded to the magus in thanks, eying the collapsed staff in Milly's hand. "You have a most interesting weapon, magus, one that you show considerable skill in wielding. Your Mystic Code, I take it?"

"Indeed, one based on physical defense and manipulation of wind," Milly affirmed, rubbing a few sore points as she switched off her Magic Circuit. "Though I would comment that your weapons are also fascinating—I have not seen their like before."

"Ah, these," C.C. said, almost fondly, holding up the hilts of the throwing swords, with the blades reappearing as she did so. "Archaic weapons these, that very few use… requiring some slight knowledge of magecraft, each with different effects—such as pinning the shadow and penetrating steel, as you saw."

The blonde's eyes narrowed at these words, recalling how swift they had proven in battle, and how they had just been so easily appeared at the Witch's bidding.

'_That's alteration magecraft, a more sophisticated version of Reinforcement,' _Milly thought, recalling her lessons in magecraft. _'But if she can use that, then why didn't she just use reinforcement on her body, instead of runes? Unless she did, and the runes enhance her abilities on top of those…a magical sleight of hand, as it were, concealing her true powers.'_

"A question," Milly stated quietly but firmly, demanding a response with a _look_. "That's a Conceptual Weapon, isn't it, to be able to bind shadow?"

A dissonant laugh, as the Grey Witch shrugged, dematerializing the blades once again and putting away the hilts in a pocket of her garment.

"I never said anything to the contrary," C.C. replied, giving an innocent shrug as she snapped her fingers and the automata maid brought in the Witch's beanbag couch, with the immortal plopping herself down upon it and patted the spot next to her. "And at higher levels of power, are not all battles and tools of thaumaturgy simply concepts given form, destroying the opposition not with a physical shock, but with a concept on a spiritual plane?"

'_If even her standard tools are Conceptual Weapons, I wonder what it is she's hiding,'_ Milly mused, forcing her face to return to a neutral expression as she did as the Witch bade her to, sitting down. _'A forbidden magecraft like a Reality Marble perhaps, the taboo of taboos?'_

"Don't try to read my mind by looking at me curiously," the Witch said abruptly, rolling her eyes with an amused snort. "Your specialty isn't memory manipulation anyway…that's the Emperor's, aided by the Ethelite monofilaments that he uses as a spiritual hacker."

"Heh," Milly returned, leaning back on the couch and raising an eyebrow at this new piece of information. "You rather do enjoy keeping secrets, don't you?"

"In that way, we are alike, magus of Ashford," C.C. replied with a faint smile. "In the wake of our mock duel, it occurs to me that Lelouch could use something to defend himself with, should he run into an enemy magus, and not be in position to possess something of use. Most do have countermeasures against simple bullets, unfortunately."

"Anything in mind?" the blonde inquired dryly. "You would know more of weapon lore than I."

"Not a sword, certainly, as it isn't concealable, he doesn't have the body strength…and it would require too much training to be useful," the immortal noted, thinking about what wouldn't work. "Likewise anything that requires too much knowledge of magecraft and physical dexterity, like my weapons."

"He did always like to skip PE classes, preferring mental exercise to physical," Milly recalled with a mild harrumph. "Which explains much about how quickly he is at understanding the Lamperouge magecraft…"

"Indeed…he is most unlike his mother in that way," C.C. remarked, causing Milly to raise an eyebrow, though the Witch did not reply. "Perhaps a staff similar to yours, then? It is the best defensive weapon, and requires the least training to begin to use effectively, especially at ranges when firearms are ineffective."

"You may be right," Milly noted, recalling that it was always a good idea to have something to defend oneself with. "I regret though, that I do not have a second telescoping staff for use."

"I can create one, methinks, as I have made more complex items in the past," the immortal said simply. "If I provide a weapon, will you train him? Or would you rather leave him to Mana's tender mercies?"

"Heh…as tempting as that would be, I think I will handle things. He is my subordinate, after all."

"And maybe more?" the Witch asked, with some amusement.

"That's…a secret," came the impish reply.

* * *

**Akihabara Electric Town, Chiyoda Ghetto **

Every time Kallen entered one of the ghettos, the decayed, burned out portions of what had once been prosperous cities before the Britannian invasion, she felt a sense of utter frustration and powerlessness as she walked among the ruins of once great skyscrapers, recalling how past glories had been lost, how Britannia had sucked her land and people dry to support their shiny new settlements, spending money lavishly on theme parks and art museums—while sparing not a cent to rebuild the infrastructure that they destroyed.

And now something unnatural was very literally sucking her people dry, with the ghettos turned into nothing more than a feeding ground for ghouls, with the air heavy tension and the sickly sweet stench of death, as—

'_I have a very bad feeling about this…'_

"Mana?" the redhead called out uneasily, looking around for a sign of the assassin to reassure herself, even as her eyes fell upon nothing.

The Chokushi no Magan adept was nowhere to be seen, with Kallen left alone in the center of a large clearing as—

'_Bait, right…' _she recalled, tensing herself as she took in her surroundings, feeling the welcome heat rise inside of her. _'Which means that she is going to eliminate the ghouls as they gather, but I will need to hold my own for a few moments while they come, right?'_

A trial by fire, or so she hoped would be the case—though the redhead fervently hoped that future training sessions would not be so—sadistic.

_Thump! Thump! Shuffle!_

And then there was no time to think, as the shuffling of feet sounded in the distance, cries of "Hyuu! Hyuu!" being taken up around the clearing as dozens of living corpses lit out for the part-time terrorist, her bounty of magical energy drawing them to her like moths to a flame.

'_Only these are rather more dangerous than moths,' _Kallen grimaced as she sprinted, charging in a headlong rush towards the ghouls on one side of the park. _'I need to clear an opening, since I have no chance if they surround me…'_

_Thud-WHOOSH!_

Two corpses in the lead were met by a powerful roundhouse kick and a jab, waves of heat surging through Kallen's limbs with each blow, instantly cremating the desiccated bodies of the two struck—but buying no reprieve from the onslaught, as ten ghouls immediately followed the two, and those behind her pounded ever closer.

"Damn you all!" Kallen hissed, pressing her momentary advantage as she rushed against the tide, feeling an overwhelming surge of heat threatening to explode from every inch of her form as she gasped, moving by instinct alone as she ran and fought for her life, hoping to escape the death trap that was the park.

It was a harder task than it initially seemed, as it didn't matter whether the familiars lost a head or an arm—to stop them, she literally had to bring the firepower of a mobile crematorium, burning their entire bodies to ash.

_Whump!_

A creature managed to break through her defenses, knocking her to the ground, wrapping an inhumanly cold hand about her throat, breaking her concentration, as more set upon her from the side, fingers like needles digging into her flesh, shredding the skin mercilessly, tearing into nerves and flesh as—

"Ah, aahhh—!"

—pain, overwhelming pain, shot through Kallen's mind as they pushed each other aside and surrounded the fallen redhead. She couldn't breathe…her throat was getting crushed, though at this rate, her neck would be twisted off before she died from asphyxiation.

'_No…death is a lonely and worthless thing. Something scarier than anything else…and if I have faced a Reaper, I will not die to these piddling corpses…not before I destroy Britannia!'_

"Nuahh!"

With a grunt of desperate strength, the redhead resisted, grabbing the corpse's neck with both hands, pushing the opponent's belly with one foot from her squashed position and—

_Wham! BOOM!_

—kicking the living ghoul with all her might, sending it away from her as the corpse was thrown back, erupting in an explosion of fiery ash and dust.

_Crack! Thud! _

Yet, the others remained, and like vultures circling carrion, the creatures circled her, kicking her side, seeming to laugh as they clawed at her, as her mana-rich lifeblood seeped out upon the ground, drawing the attention of yet more.

Her head pounded. Her pulse raced, demanding that she fight or flee, nerves splitting, one after the next, spinal cord going berserk, as if it was about to leap out of her back from sheer agony, as blood and sweat and filth coated her body.

_Die. Die. Hurry and die._

So seemed the chorus, as these undead priests of the cult of violence moved, their actions a hymn to their dark god.

_Whoosh!_

Another up in flames as—

"AHHHH—ugh!"

—a scream leaked out from Kallen's lips, cut out as another ghoul slammed into her side, ripping at her flesh. The only thing keeping her from dying was anger, and the fact that so many were fighting over who would devour her—the bestial instincts of the ghouls not thinking much of cooperation or proper fighting.

'_I don't want this. I don't want to die this way. I didn't want to be killed like this!'_

She felt herself weakening as flesh was being ripped, bitten into, bones broken as blood and saliva coated her body—

''_I'll be torn apart for their amusement. There's nothing I can do...frightening, frightening, frightening, scary, scary, scary…'_

A frightening thought. There was nowhere to run. If things continued, she would be torn apart to become a meal for these creatures.

"Ha. Haha. Hahahahhaha," mad laughter replaced anything that came before. Escape was impossible, running away was impossible. So there was but one thing to do.

Be killed. Be killed. Be killed.

Yes.

'_They will be killed by __**me!'**_

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Just by thinking that, any uncertainty disappeared, as insane cackling spilled from her lips, and –

_FWOOSH!_

—all the corpses clustered around her exploded into white-hot flames, vaporizing twenty ghouls at once.

Her brain itself was abnormal, every sense, every part of her body altered—with a headache and heat which was enough to drive her insane, pain from within countering pain from without, as she struck in a tornado of blazing fists and legs, caving a path of scorched earth as she attacked with the speed of a demon!

"So you want to kill me, you damned Britannian beasts? Then let us kill each other!" the redhead snarled, as another attacked her, striking her from behind and—

_WHOOSH!_

—crumbling to ash as fire consumed its insides. No matter how large, fast or brutal they were, they could not kill the flame magus unless they touched her—and if they touched her, whether with hand or leg or teeth, they would die, since in desperation, Kallen was now channeling power through every part of her body, cauterizing her wounds.

Her limbs suddenly became a bit as magical energy flooded through them, acting in tandem with the adrenalin pouring through every nerve, every blood vessel in her body, going from mild frustration to full-blown implosive anger. Wrath, hatred, rage - whatever you called it, it pumped in her veins like cold mercury, clearing all the senses and synchronizing each and every one into one unified purpose.

KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. **KILL.**

Pain became a mere afterthought, every bite, every scratch, every bone-crushing impact against her body as futile and as unnoticed as the rapidly-darkening splotches of blood on her garments. Of course, the wounds would pay dividends later, as no human body took that much damage without consequences - but the aftereffects would come crashing down on her _after_ she'd accomplished her goal, not before.

Fire did not think, after all, did not reason—it simply burned, simply consumed every bit of fuel thrown at it, as these oversized husks of what had once been men and women demonstrated as they became nothing more than ash.

_Slash!_

In the distance, a figure appeared, flying along the ground, moving with the speed of a true demon—carving silver furrows into the night as it attacked the milling horde of ravenous ghouls.

_Fsh! Slice! Slice! Slice!_

The Satsujinki moved quickly, and struck even quicker, a twisting, turbulent vortex of violence as she tore into the mass of living corpses, every movement of her knife either plunging into flesh, being ripped from flesh, or slashing through the air to 'kill' distance - before cutting into yet more flesh, as the Reaper claimed her victims in a dervish of dismemberment and destruction, actualizing inescapable inevitability with inhuman calm.

Some of the ghouls tried to escape, to brush past her, but before their self-preservation instincts could kick in, they were already lying in up to fifteen neatly-cut pieces.

_Slash!_

The white-clad figure covered the distance from one point to another with swiftness that even Kallen could not follow, changing directions as it savagely tore apart every undead familiar it passed, avoiding injury. A slim crescent or line of light as each living corpse met the end of its existence, human parts and entrails falling like rain, crumbling to ash, with the white fabric of her kimono rustled with the wind of her movements.

_Slice! Slice! Slice!_

And then at last there was silence, with nothing left to kill, no fuel for the fire, with everything mercifully over. The crushing presence of impending death was gone—the bestial vocalizations, the movement of feet gnashing of teeth, the eerie keening of the creatures coming together around them—all ended, replaced by a veil of smoke and ash. All Kallen could hear now was her own racing pulse, and her own breathing, as the flow of magical energy in her body slowed to a trickle and she caught sight of a pair of glowing blue eyes.

"Took you _damn _long enough,"Kallen managed, looking unsteadily at the untouched form of the Satsujinki. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, or just think, but she wouldn't have the chance, as her consciousness wavered, and with a dull thud, the fire magus collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

'_She did better than I expected, but then, near death situations tend to lead to a magus releasing his or her true abilities,'_ Mana mused, checking over Kallen's vitals, finding that none of her injuries alone were life-threatening. All the lines on the redhead's form seemed to be stable, and there were no overt abnormalities that would indicate the onset of vampiric infection, so the killer sheathed her knife and picking up the bloody, battered form of the fire magus in a princess cradle. _'It would be best if we returned to the Grey Witch's atelier, as C.C. knows healing magic…and it would be for the best if we avoided the trouble of explaining her injuries to anyone not involved. She also needs to be treated for mana deprivation, though that's…easily enough handled.'_

The assassin judged that it would be safe enough to take carry the magus back to the Academy on the Vespa via the subway tunnels, as there should be no more of The Dead in this place, and speed was necessary for Kallen's treatment.

'_If he has not already, the master of these undead familiars will soon notice their demise, and will come to investigate the cause…' _Mana thought with a twisted smile. _'Very good…it has been a while since I have tested my skill against a worthy foe.'_

**

* * *

**

**V.V's Atelier, Pendragon Imperial Palace**

In the center of a vast cavern hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, dimly lit by the glowing of numerous sigils of power, an eternally young boy with blond hair longer than his body sat upon a granite throne, reflecting on the video footage that he had seen earlier—footage of Gottwald's rampage and the destruction it had caused.

'_I should have expected that _that woman's_ loyal guard would be at the center of this inconvenience, as even in death, that woman plagues me…' _the young immortal seethed, seeing red as he mulled over the inconvenient events of the last 24 hours. _'Along with that man _Zero, _who I suspect is a magus of some sort, given that it seemed as if the Margrave was possessed…or controlled.'_

If that was so, then a new threat had arisen at the edge of the Empire, as those two aspects of magecraft (transference of consciousness and manipulation of memory), were disciplines that supposedly fell under his own purview, overlapping with _his_ magic. It was for that reason that he had eliminated the Lamperouge lineage, after all, since Marianne refused to cooperate with him in his desire to create a more perfect world, and had almost succeeded in talking Charles out of participating in the plan.

'_Though now, what remains of her serves me as a loyal familiar…'_

There were some seeds of doubt about the happenings in Area 11, as to flaunt one's abilities in such a manner was the opposite of what a magus was expected to do, but at this stage in the war, V.V. would not be surprised if the surviving magi in Area 11 had turned feral and disobedient, like the animals they were.

'_They never did obey the Association and so they must be punished, much like those other rogue branches, particularly _Atlas, _which dares to intervene in the Middle Eastern Federation and the European Universe,'_ the eternally young boy thought to himself, gripping the armrests of his throne tightly as he recalled how that group of alchemists had gone rogue, with the self-styled Dust of Osiris (the leader of Atlas) executing the representatives he had sent with his polite requests to submit to his authority. _'I am a Sorcerer, wielder of one of the three remaining True Magics, and yet they dare defy_ me?_ I will crush them…_'

Easier said than done though, as the alchemists of Atlas were sly and wily—and possessed a cache of powerful artifacts created over the ages that more than made up for their relative weakness as magi.

'_And though I have great power, I do not wish to confront them in person, as one of their greatest weapons is the Black Barrel_, _a gun that can permanently kill immortals by imposing the notion of natural lifespan on them. As to be expected by an organization of heretics once headed by the _Grey Witch…,' V.V. reflected silently, taking a deep, shuddering breath to calm his anger, '_though the _Sea of Estray _troubles me as well, as it is impossible to discern their motivations, or who they will side with, having remained carefully neutral in this conflict, damn them.'_

Indeed, those two organizations were impeding his righteous crusade, and so he had dispatched the full force of the Geass Directorate, an organization that took in magus orphans and trained them as emotionless assassins, against them, limiting the resources he had on hand, aside from the teams of irregulars at his beck and call in Area 11. Still, the most effective of his assassins, the Dead Apostle named Rolo Haliburton, had been dispatched to the rogue Area, along with the Knight of Ten and the elite pilots of Valkyrie Squadron.

'_I suppose I will see if there are any other assets remaining in the underground city in the Chinese Federation,' _the boy mused, recalling the facility at which magus killers were mass produced as tools for his use, raised from youth to serve him, with any defective products who had doubts about their training or objectives eliminated, taken apart while still alive, their souls used to create demonic familiars that _would_ serve him. _'But for now, I will make sure the next Governor General can neither be possessed nor controlled…'_

At that, the immortal stood, his glowing white and gold vestments etched with spell sigils rustling as he stepped out into the center of a spell circle and raised a hand to the side of his head.

"Charles, about the situation in Area 11," V.V. spoke without preamble, his voice smooth and seemingly warm. "Indeed, I agree that Cornelia would be best suited to dealing with the unrest, though matters in the Middle East are not going as well as we had hoped, thanks to Atlas' interference. In the meantime, would you consent to a proposition of mine? Considering that Area 11 was also the last known location of the Witch, there is a high probability at this Zero may be linked to her, with her having passed onto him her dark magics. You will defer to me for now? Brilliant."

**

* * *

**

**Government Bureau, the following day**

In the wake of uproar caused by Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald's inexplicable actions (which some called the Orange Uprising), the chain of command and administrative services had been thrown into chaos, with accusations of disloyalty and such thrown about, as factions waged power struggles for the throne of Viceroy. Everything had been affected, but worst hit was the military, with many of the higher-ups having been killed by the acting-viceroy in his madness.

Thus, when Suzaku Kururugi reported to the his assigned courtroom for his trial, he had been clapped in irons and hastily escorted to a holding cell and told to wait, as the court personnel did not the time to deal with him at the moment—especially as Gottwald, who had 'solved' the case of Clovis' murder and was supposed to preside over the trial, had apparently gone insane—and the remaining clerks and functionaries were surprised and inconvenienced when the escapee simply showed up.

It had not been until the following afternoon when time was found for the hearing, with the Honorary Britannian walking slowly to stand before the dais to hear what the court had decided was to be his fate, knowing that it was likely to be death.

"Case No.107 Private Suzaku Kururugi, Area 11 Military Forces," intoned the judge, a recently promoted functionary that had been tasked with the job in the morning. "In the murder of His Highness Prince Clovis you are no longer a suspect, and are hereby set free due to lack of evidence."

A bang of the gavel, and that was all, with the next few minutes a blur as he was unchained and basically tossed out onto the street, with the court personnel (all military), dismissed to deal with more pressing matters, such as reforming the chain of command.

"What happened?" Kururugi thought, dazed at how quickly everything had happened, though unexpectedly glad that apparently the truth had won out in court after all, exactly as he had foreseen would happen in a just society. "I'm…free?"

Meanwhile, in the basement of the Government Bureau, a transport shuttle had arrived, with the Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley and the four members of Valkyrie Squadron, an elite Britannian division of Knightmare pilots under his command, emerging from within to meet an assembled honor guard.

"Your Excellency," an aide greeted, bowing to the Knight of Round and company. "Welcome to Area 11."

"Greetings," intoned the Vampire of Britannia, tossing a knife from hand to hand, unnerving the aide. "As you know, I have orders from His Imperial Majesty to eliminate the growing resistance in Area 11 before Second Princess Cornelia li Britannia's arrival, taking particular regard ferret out the terrorist known as Zero, the murderer of Prince Clovis, and his collaborators."

'_How excellent that His Majesty understands me…giving me a chance to deprive people of what what they value most…'_

* * *

**Warehouse District, Tokyo Settlement**

Rolo Haliburton's arrival in Area 11 was rather less heralded, as he had been shipped there in a sealed cargo container of "medical supplies" to prevent exposure to sunlight (or the revelation of his nature as a Dead Apostle to others, which would be…inconvenient, at best, since he was the only agent in the Area who could order about the Ghost Liner who had become Governor General), with said container left in a new but unused warehouse as ordered by a member of the royal family.

Once night fell and all had gone away, the vampiric assassin emerged from his container, using a runestone to set up a bounded field around the warehouse that was to become his base of operations, so as to conceal his presence from any demon hunters (which this Area in particular was known for, with the four most prominent bloodlines – Nanaya, Fujou, Ryougi, and Asagami as his targets, in addition to rogue mages), before reaching out with his mind to test his connection with his remaining familiars, discovering that a great many had been eliminated, an inconvenience that annoyed the ageless killer, since manipulating living corpses was the easiest way to eliminate enemies and indirectly feed.

_'Ah, but the night is young, and there is time yet to act,'_ he mused, his mouth open in a rictus almost like a smile. '_Besides, among the numbers, there are more than enough people that will never be missed…'_

Checking the weapons strapped to his side in case he should run into any inconvenient magi, the Dead Apostle stepped out of the warehouse into the night, leaving behind a demon familiar wearing the face of the Knight of Ten to guard his base.

'_And now…I shall feed on young and supple flesh....'_

* * *

**A/N**: So, things change, a new governor general arrives, and Lelouch may soon get "training" with some kind of self defense (enough not to crumple at the first hit anyway). I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, and that you are all enjoying this holiday season. Thanks for reading, and reviews are greatly appreciated.


	9. Shrine of Void

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Tokyo Settlement**

Strangely enough for one who was called the "Vampire of Britannia", Luciano Bradley disliked bloody movies. Horror movies, war movies, thrillers, action-adventure movies, dramas—all those that continued to endlessly paint visions of man's death as something noble, terrifying, or needless, a mere creative device to help a weaver of tales move closer to the climax of a story.

Such fictitious imitations of the end of one's existence were repugnant to him, the great homicide genius, because from a certain point of view, such staid proliferation of fictitious death was merely a way for spectators to minimize their fear of the inevitable.

'_They are distracted from what they value most, taking pride in their experience of this _'death', _their false_ _comprehension,' _the Knight of Ten mused as he prowled the streets of the Tokyo Settlement in his invisible spirit form. It truly was amazing how useful an incorporeal nature could be when one wanted to slip the leash of one's watchers and just—kill. _'And so they think they can overcome their dread of what comes after by these virtual experiences.'_

But death was something that one couldn't truly experience while alive—and thus, it was impossible for any living being to understand true meaning, why humans could only guess at the essence of death by observing death of others and disseminating their points of view on this last experience so as to foster a respect of life, in essence, preserving civilization. Yet this too was a façade, for the primal fear of nonexistence lurked in the shadows of every human heart, terrors awakened in times of war, when bombings, landmines, and death squads turned people into steaming piles of butchered meat.

'_Ah yes…the pleasantness of war,'_ the man thought with a twisted smile, listening for the sounds of unwary passerbys in the distance, the better to surprise, the better to sate his lusts. _'The only time when I can legally take away what others value most…'_

These "others" were content to be entertained by fictional physical pain, mental stress or sorrows, vicariously tasting of dangerously thrilling sensations in a risk-free manner through the sufferings of those who were forced to endure uneasiness…finding themselves brought to tears, screams, or shudders by a silver screen or a cathode-ray. But it was foolish to think that death could be minimized and fear conquered by looking at the special make-ups of slaughtered bodies, the red ink of blood splashes and the melodramatic acting of hacks reproducing a screaming, whimpering slipping away to lifelessness.

'_How stale…what nonsense, really,'_ the Knight of Ten laughed silently, his lips curling up into a rictus of horror. _'The blood and screams in fiction are not realistic at all…paling in comparison to the brutal honesty of a human body in the moments before the end. The vivid red of the hemorrhaging arteries, the touch and the warmth of the slime covered organs inside the abdominal cavity. The musical sound of the victim screaming as her entrails are pulled out, artfully arranged into a flower of thanatos. A perfect moment of human suffering._ _For_ f_right is about the feeling that you will die. The true meaning of terror doesn't lie in a static condition, but in a change―the instant when hope is turned into despair. A wonderful cocktail of scents and sensations, the smell of fresh fear and death.'_

Personally, the Vampire of Britannia didn't understand why people thought murder was a crime, as there were too many humans crowding the world anyway: 6 billion individuals – an outrageous number, one that would stagger the mind if one truly understood it.

The uncouth Luciano Bradley certainly did, as he had once tried to count the blade of grass in a public field as a child. Of course, he had become discouraged after reaching a thousand and losing count, but the point was still valid. After all, there were six million times that many humans, with the number of births and deaths each day counted in the tens of thousands.

Even as a homicide genius, a bloodthirsty murderer, what weight did he have in the grand scheme of things? What was another death or ten a day when taken in a tally of over ten thousand? Besides, by taking the time to kill people one by one, the Knight of Ten found that he could perfect their deaths, stripping away the lie of power, control, and dignity—revealing that a human was but another lowly animal that valued life above all else. Suffering brought the truth to light, and didn't the truth set people free? With that reasoning, wouldn't homicide be a more productive action than wasting one's time on frivolities such as education, parties, or politics?

With that creed, Luciano Bradley wandered around in various places, accumulating murders, without fear. He didn't fear the law as he was the law—the only one who could condemn him was the Emperor, and that man knew well how valuable the Knight of Ten's services were. He didn't fear retribution as he believed himself a peerless killer, a murderer without equal—until the rise of Zero, the masked man who was now thought to have murdered the Royal Guard, as well as Prince Clovis.

'_Zero – a man who is himself an illusion, whose presence alone has incited rebellion – a man whose destruction I will savor as a rare vintage of wine,'_ the psychotic Knight of the Round reflected gleefully, his blood-drenched gears and cogs of his mind spinning as he considered the probable paths the future would take. _'Oh yes, for a man built of lies may easily be shattered by perversions of lies, killed in thousands of ways in word, and act, and deed.'_

It was exceedingly rare for such a perfect victim to appear before his eyes, but so Zero had, with the Knight of Ten fixating on ways to bring about the masked one's demise. So much could be squeezed from such a man, to see what the pretender would see at the very end as Bradley drank of his soul and used it for his own gain.

Sniff. Sniff.

The scent of perfume on young flesh in the distance, as a trio of young women wandered late at night, laughing drunkenly as they staggered back from a party.

'_Ah, my daily sustenance. The young ones are always the most delicious, as theybelieve themselves invincible…how pleasant it is to see the terror stricken looks on their faces as they realize they are about to die. Hmm…I wonder how Clovis looked when Zero killed him. Did the prince beg for his life? Did he plead for mercy? Such an image warms my heart…'_

Information—one of the few things Bradley enjoyed, and one of the reasons he killed. On the verge of death, common people behaved strangely, and on the other hand, people seen as exceptional could die in an extremely banal way―observing such patterns in humans, the Vampire of Britannia pursued death; and while being an expert in death, he greatly studied its complete opposite, life. The more he killed people, the more he understood of the lives he took.

'_My appetites are roused again…my desire to change human shells into the bloodstained pieces of meat they really are, and take my step in utterly destroying Zero.'_

_Whoosh!_

With a sound of displaced air, the Vampire of Britannia materialized his body some distance in front of the trio, this time picturing himself in the garments that had last been seen on the man called Zero as he stalked through the night, black cape rustling behind him as his feet _clip-clopped _across the ground towards the trio.

"Who…"

One barely had time to ask, before she was cut off by a vicious backhand…

"Who am I?" the Knight of Ten asked with a feral smile, baring his teeth as he lunged, partially dematerializing his hands and thrusting them into the chests of the two others—

_Squelch!_

—and rematerializing them as he ripped out their still-beating hearts, savoring the sickening crunch of muscles and bones being torn apart from inside, the soul-rending scream that burst from the third, closing his eyes and raising his face as he listened to that nightmarish sound and drank it in attentively, body shivering as if in ecstasy, absorbing the souls of the slain by touch.

"**I…am Zero!"**

_Fsh! Clip-Clip-Clip-Clip!_

The sound of scrabbling feet, as the one girl left alive backed up and ran for her life, as Bradley knelt down and drank of the blood of his victims, finding it…delicious.

"Ha…haha….AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA……"

Drunken laughter gave way to screams, gave way to death rattles, and then madness, as a so-called "vampire" feasted and supped.

'_I feast on two and leave a third alive, so to spread the message of Zero as a monster…killing his image before killing the man himself. For the "truth" to the common person is malleable, a nothing more but an illusion he or she clings to for the sake of survival—and only at the moment of death will they see their natures for what they truly are.'_

**

* * *

**

**Sinai Peninsula, Middle Eastern Federation**

'_Damn that scion of the Eltnam line…that Dust of Osiris!'_

So Cornelia li Britannia, the Chief General of the Imperial Army, cursed from her personal Gloucester, as she looked up in disbelief at an immense wall of sand and dust stretching from horizon to horizon, rising 1.6 kilometers above the ground, lying between her troops and her objective — what the soldiers had been told was one of the Middle Eastern Federation's last remaining bases, a vital defense point that needed to be captured to end this protracted engagement — but was in reality an auxiliary facility of Atlas.

The conquest of the Middle Eastern Federation was supposed to be a simple matter, but her enemies had been fierce in defending this godforsaken land, using those oversized Knightmare imitations called Bamides in hit and run tactics as they attacked from a distance with long-range linear cannons, then retreated behind a veil of sand, with any attempts at pursuit rebuffed.

'_The dust storms in this region are certainly an inconvenient obstacle, having proved nearly impossible to penetrate even with desert adapted Knightmare divisions, thanks to heat, wind, and…our enemy's cunning.'_

Indeed, every Knightmare or other vehicle sent into the storms had disappeared without a trace, operator and all, with their last transmissions claiming that a mysterious black and gold Knightmare had appeared from the middle of the sandstorms—moments before all that could be heard were screams and the hiss of static – a fate that had occurred to four squads of Sutherlands thus far, as well as a squad of her Royal Guard in Gloucesters sent specifically to annihilate the hidden enemy.

'_I can only presume that magecraft is involved…and thus that this is _her _doing as the Dust of Osiris,' _the Second Princess fumed, signaling her Knightmares to come to a halt outside the meteorological distortion. _'Appropriate tactics for one in this situation, as Alchemists of Atlas never go into battle without a trump card. Honorless curs, like all other rogue magi who will not submit to the just rule of the Empire…like those cowards who murdered Lady Marianne!'_

The Second Princess of the Empire was unable to keep a snarl from her features on recalling the results of investigation into the assassination of Empress Consort Marianne vi Britannia, one of the few women in the noble family that Cornelia actually respected—and a powerful magus who should have been capable of dealing with almost any threat to her person.

'_She was struck down by an Artificial Conceptual Weapon capable of imposing the user's origin on the victim — the first known Origin Bullet. Indeed, it was from the remains of her corpse that the royal magi learned how to create Origin Bullets, extremely effective weapons that can bring down the most dangerous of foes,'_ the young Chief General grimaced, shuddering at the thought that the unknown killer would go so far as to cut out and powder several bones to create a horrific weapon seemingly designed for use against magi—and that she herself now carried a gunshield based on the same concept. _'Most likely, the knowledge of this armament came from Atlas, as their philosophy is that a magus does not have to be strong—a magus merely has to craft the strongest creation.'_

Atlas. A name that had never been far from her thoughts in the years since the murder—and the subsequent deaths of Marianne's children in Area 11, as the Second Princess worked hard to refine her own abilities, becoming known in certain circles as the so-called "Witch of Britannia", a brilliant but cold magus without equal who annihilated her enemies without hesitation or mercy, with the Glaston Knights by her side.

'_But now that I have finally gained command of the Army…I may finally exact my revenge, with a perfect opportunity to suppress the rogue magi responsible for the deaths of Marianne, Lelouch, and Nunnally vi Britanni a—showing the dogs of Atlas the futility of their actions...'_

Or at least, that was how things were supposed to unfold, with the might of the Britannian Army and its magus killers crushing all resistance in her path—instead of this tangled quagmire wearing down her troops' morale and fighting ability, masterminded by that Eltnam woman.

'_Now what...? We cannot use vehicles to enter the sandstorm, and for a squad of normal foot soldiers to enter would be suicide. Which of course leaves…'_

"…Darlton," Cornelia voiced, opening a private channel to the commander of the Glaston Knights, as the rather brutal, scarred face of the Knight Commander appeared on her monitor. "I am in need of your services."

"Yes, Princess, how may I serve you?" the gruff old man inquired, his mouth set in an ever-present scowl. "I take it this concerns the environmental anomaly engineered by the alchemist?"

"Hmph, perceptive as ever, I see," the Chief General of the Imperial Army responded, allowing her lips to curl upwards ever so slightly. "Yes, given the situation, our conventional forces will not be able to complete the job. Knightmare Frames and other vehicles are unusable within the phenomena's radius of effect, and foot soldiers would be of no use."

"And you believe that magi will succeed where our other forces have failed," Darlton stated, nodding once in approval. "Very well then…the Glaston Knights will dismount and attempt to infiltrate the Atlas facility ahead, disabling the individual who maintains this sandstorm—bounded field, rather."

"Very well, but be wary," Cornelia cautioned, raising one slender eyebrow. "The alchemists of Atlas are a devious and underhanded lot who will do anything for victory. And in breaking through with such small numbers, you are almost certainly walking into an ambush."

"Then all the better to spring it on our terms, rather than theirs," responded the commander of the Glaston Knights, as he closed the channel and made preparations for the upcoming operation. "After all, if we don't, we will not be able to subdue Atlas and bring them into the fold, along with the weapons that they have stockpiled, like a great curse against the world."

* * *

**Mana's Quarters, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

After her exhausting battle, Kallen Kozuki fell into dreaming. A lucid dream—but then, that was nothing unusual, for her dreams had been lucid for as long as she could remember, with the young redhead in full control of the world of her unconscious—or what elements she chose to manipulate, anyway. Some imaginary therapist would likely explain this as a reaction to the lack of control she had in her everyday life, which was true enough—and was likely why she resorted to using this "common person's marble phantasm" as an outlet for her pent up frustration, shaping her phantasmal world into one she missed dearly.

Most people who could use this ability would go all out in their dreams – becoming the hero of a story, granting themselves incredible powers such as flight, magic, or other such – a sign that one had grown into the fine, repressed individual that society's values and norms pressured everyone to become in time, directing all their passions and hopes into that inner world even as their ambitions died, and they found that no matter how hard they tried in real life, they only met with failures.

Kallen's dreams, however, was nothing quite so fanciful (even if magic and the sort wasn't really fantasy, given that it actually existed), as they were instead an endless refrain of past memories, slivers of infinity when life had been peaceful and carefree, with a typical dream featuring her as a little girl playing in a grassy field with her mother and her brother. That was it. No flying, no adventures…just an ordinary day without the care in the world, with the only thing remotely dream-like about the whole thing that she would never get tired, never get sunburned, never feel anything less than happy.

And then she would wake up crying as he eyes opened upon a cruel world, wanting nothing more than to just sink back into the realm of dreams.

'_Help me…someone…please…'_

Still, Kallen's current dream was nothing so peaceful, not at all. Having fallen unconscious after an intense battle for her life, the girl's subconscious carefully reconstructed the events of that night in horrifying detail: a dream of blood, of living corpses, of fangs and claws and flames and silver arcs of light.

In her dream, Kallen beheld her own battered, broken body, cold eyes staring up the sky as undead ghouls swarmed over her, ripping at her flesh, fighting one another for a bite of her skin and bones, with Mana watching from somewhere in the distance, cloaked in the darkness, knife in hand, eerie blue eyes staring out into the gloom, regarding the fallen redhead impassively as—

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

—an explosion of insane laughter and burning light tore the world apart, with the dream-figure of the magus of fire staggering to her feet and going berserk, becoming a wraith of destruction that hacked and tore and struck in a whirling dervish of flames, more of a monster than any of the creatures that had attacked her.

'_Was that…really me?' _Kallen thought, swallowing as she witnessed her own actions, how she had gleefully ripped bodies apart without hesitation, without remorse, until at last all had returned to the dust of death, and the flames about her sputtered out, leaving the world a burnt-out husk, with the magus herself collapsing to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. _'I am…I am…'_

In her dream, Kozuki cried, the remembered pain hitting all at once—then fading, as the sensation of tears welling in her eyes snapped her from her fevered sleep, revealing…

'_Where…is this? It's…another unfamiliar ceiling.'_

So she thought, much like another pilot of giant humanoid robots might have once done, as she surveyed her surroundings, as any soldier was wont to do while waking up in a strange environment, noting the presence of—yes—an unfamiliar ceiling and an even more unfamiliar room unlike the dorms of Ashford Academy or her own room, with the redhead herself sprawled across a spartan, but comfortable bed.

On top of that, Kallen was not particularly amused to find that she was naked. Completely and—

Warily, she carefully lifted the sheets covering her and took a peek, with each movement evoking a particularly-stinging burst of pain that convinced her that moving any further would result in more of it.

—utterly naked. Now, while she wasn't one for modesty, the part-time terrorist was still vulnerable to the cold, and so crossed her arms over her ample breasts as she shivered slightly from the chill air in the chamber. Her arms, her legs, her stomach, her chest, heck, even her hair hurt—after the debacle that had been her brief stint as zombie bait / incinerator, though to her surprise, she seemed looked uninjured, with at least her visible surfaces mended to the point that the pain was slowly ebbing, as if but a half-remembered illusion.

'_That's strange…'_ the redhead mused with a slight frown. _'I remember claws and teeth digging into my flesh, and I know that I utterly drained myself in that last battle, brought to the verge of death.'_

Then her eyes narrowed as Kallen remembered how quickly the green-haired Witch had recovered from having half her body burned to a cinder, almost as if time had turned back for the woman to a point before injury.

'_Healing magic, then,' _Kozuki thought, as she forced herself to sit up and examine the details of her room—where she assumed Mana had taken her (which of course meant that making a break for it was not an option, given that she didn't know where she was, and the assassin no doubt had her own purposes for bringing her here). _'Which means the witch is likely nearby…'_

As suited the Satsujinki's personality, it was mostly empty, save for a table, some chairs, a bed, and a bookshelf—on which sat two cat plushies, one black and one white, both with red eyes, and a few empty cartons of Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream—the only sign that the room had been occupied at all—save for the sight of the normally guarded Mana sleeping, slumped over onto a table, just like a student during a particularly boring lesson.

"Just…who are you, really?" Kallen murmured to herself, sliding off the bed and making to walk towards one of the chairs, where a robe was draped, presumably for her use. On the way, the redhead paused as she looked over towards the assassin, finding her sleeping posture curious. "I know your name and your power, but…who are you beyond all of that?"

What she didn't expect was to trip over a half-asleep foot, going head over heels as she stumbled and knocked over the chair on which the Satsujinki slumbered, sending both of the girls sprawling to the floor, with Kallen on top of Mana, as the assassin's blue eyes snapped open to stare into those of the part-time terrorist.

'…_well, this is awkward…'_

**

* * *

**

**Atlas Auxiliary Compound, Sinai Peninsula, Middle Eastern Federation**

After dismounting from their Knightmares and donning cloaks imbued with a charm granting protection from wind (obtained from several rogue alchemists that Cornelia had had the fortune to capture), the Glaston Knights had found the infiltration of this facility of Atlas a surprisingly easy task, as they had passed through the surrounding sandstorm to arrive before the ornately carved doors of the compound without incident.

'_Strange…I would have expected more from the fabled _Dust of Osiris_,_' thought Andreas Darlton, Commander of the Glaston Knights, as he pushed open the door to reveal a den of shadowed gloom, lights broken, strewn with overturned furniture and shattered glassware, his keen senses detecting only desolation—though an undercurrent of magical energy was present, maintaining the boundary field. _'Could it be that the sandstorm was merely a delaying tactic to allow her subordinates to escape? That would certainly be seen as victory of a sort, but this particular Alchemist is known for her impeccable combat sense, and her confidence in her abilities—she is not one to retreat.'_

He looked to his second in command, his adopted son Alfred Darlton, signaling the rest of the Knights to move in, drawing their weapons and fully opening their Magic Circuits in case of—

_There._

At the end of a grand hall lined with marble pillars stood a figure in a white and purple floor length dress emblazoned with the sigil of Atlas, hands outstretched in welcome as her form was lit up by muted sunlight spilling in from a high window, purple eyes glancing dispassionately at the intruders, opening her mouth as—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—the Glaston Knights fired, shooting dozens of lead slugs into the air, deadly shards of metal that hissed as they ripped through the alchemist, silencing her before she had a chance to speak, her body—

_Swish!_

—collapsing into a heap of white thread, as—

"What the—"

"A decoy?!"

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Filaments of light erupted from the ground, sealing the entrances and exits of the facility with a three-layered boundary field, cutting off all contact with the outside.

"So, the Hyena has dispatched her Glaston Knights, as expected when conventional warfare is not an option," the low, husky voice of the Dust of Osiris observed, a perfectly calm voice that emanated and echoed through shadows of the grand hall, with its origin unidentifiable. "I would suggest you surrender, Children of Darlton, as your chances of victory are below 3 percent—and by entering here without permission, you have made all of Atlas into your enemy."

_Fzzzzzz! Hiss-snap! _

"Dog of Atlas, you and your kind will bow to the Order of Britannia!" the rash Alfred Darlton, second in command of the Knights, replied to what he perceived as a taunt, hurling a powerful bolt of lightning into the gloom that lit up—

_Slice!_

—a lone Eleven clad in tattered black, with bandages wrapped around his upper face, seeming to project an aura of death as he vaulted over the railing of the mezzanine, landing on the ground silently as he rushed towards the aggressor, an old knife in his hand with the words Nanatsu Yoru engraved on the hilt, slicing off his bandages in a smooth motion and—

_Squelch! Thud!_

—slamming eight inches of tempered steel through the throat of the late second-in-command, pushing through the slight resistance of the voicebox with a sickening lurch—savagely jerking the knife up and to the right as he ripped it free, decapitating the knight.

"What?!"

"An…Eleven? Here?"

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Tracers of heat and light blasted out into the shadows, as the remaining Knights judged that they were too close to use magecraft, molten lead death streaking out at the figure—

_Crunch! Ping! Shatter!_

—and missing, with the high-caliber rounds kicking up stone shards and marble splinters as they tore up the ground, as the shadowed Eleven—

_Thud! _

—launched himself bodily at another Knight, smashing his black-clad elbow across the Darlton child's face, following by slamming the butt of his knife into the hollow where the Britannian's ribs met just below the sternum.

"OOf…"

The Knight wheezed as the was air expelled forcefully from his lungs, with the unknown killer kneeing the man in the face, spinning the scion of Darlton about and slamming his head hard into the ground, skull-first, in a throw so strong that tiling cracked and splintered under the impact.

_Squish!_

A quick thrust that slammed through the man's heart, combined with a brutal twisting motion to tear up more of the man's insides, and three more slices in a second that left the Knight in pieces.

"What the hell is…" a third Knight asked fearfully, tossing out a set of wires and transmuting them into a shield to use against the man, to give him time to cast a more powerful spell as—

_Thump!_

—a thrown knife passed through the wires a moment before the shield solidified, catching the man in the gut.

"I am the spider that set this web," came the mocking baritone of the shadow, laughing as if amused by the suffering before him. "Welcome to this wonderful killing chamber."

In the modern world, there were several entities that were feared by those in the shadows as merciless killers, supreme in their ability to eliminate anything that lived. And among these, two stood heads and shoulders above the rest: a young woman who bore the title of Satsujinki, and a man whose name alone was nearly enough to give an opponent a heart attack – Nanaya Shiki.

_Slice! Slice! Slice! _

Flashes of light too quick for the naked eye, as the Nanaya displayed his nonchalant expertise in slashing through the lives of all but the Knight Commander, the bodies of the intruders disintegrating into mangled heads, arms, legs, torsos, artfully arranged like some kind of bloody flower, until at last only Andreas Darlton was left, with the killer's foot smashing the Britannian's face into the ground.

"Everyone dies, so dying here isn't a big deal," the assassin casually remarked, raising his knife for the kill, pausing a hairbreadth from his victim's neck as he thought of something else. "Do you know where you're going? If it's hell, give the devil my regards."

A downward slash, and a flash of blue, and the lives of the Glaston Knights, commander and all, were extinguished, with the Nanaya wiping his knife on the reasonably clean garments of his last victim, before sheathing and pocketing the blade once more, as the Ethelite barrier dissolved.

_Clip-clop! Clip-clop!_

"Ceasing thought acceleration, returning to vigilance mode. That was well done as usual, Shiki," spoke the Dust of Osiris, as the mysterious director of Atlas emerged from one of the laboratories on the second story to lean over the railing and observe the carnage, the faint light gleaming off of golden bracelets on her wrist, from which extended lines of light to the severed heads of the Knights as she drained them of tactical information. "And you did it without having to disable your limiter."

The last of the Nanayas, and the world's only bearer of the Eyes of Life Perception, only raised an eyebrow as he turned from the bloody evidence of handiwork to regard his partner of over a decade—the enigmatic heir of the Eltnam family, who he had met during one of his last assignments before joining up with her—the elimination of a Dead Apostle.

"Of course, Sion," the killer replied with a cocky smile, retrieving a length of bandages from one of his garment's pockets and winding it about his eyes once more, so as to block the effects of his Mystic Eyes. Being unable to switch his ability to perceive life-force as points and lines (a way the human mind was not meant for) off was not exactly conducive to sanity, after all. "Luck is rather on my side, after all, and I prefer to rely on my own talents."

"There is no such thing as luck," sniffed the one known to her close associates as Sion Eltnam Atlasia, a woman who now glared at the assassin as was her habit when the two were alone together, before vaulting over the railing herself, coming to stand before the demon hunter. "You merely performed actions with low priorities, such that the Knights were unable to predict the outcome—actions such as refusing to disable the limiter to increase your chance of victory."

She was obviously slightly miffed that he had refused to use her gift, but then, disabling the limiter to overclock the body was a mixed blessing, as the aftermath of battle would leave the body in pain.

Winding, winding, winding.

Finishing his task, Shiki sighed, crossing his arms and turning to where he knew Sion was by the sound of her breathing and the rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Heh, they were no good…maybe against a Dead Apostle," the assassin asked sarcastically, somewhat amused that his partner continued to say the same thing after nearly a decade. "Why don't you admit it, that you just didn't want to lose me? And that not everything in the world can be predicted…"

"…I will admit that you have always been an irregularity in my calculations," the Dust of Osiris conceded grudgingly, her cheeks heating ever so slightly as she turned her face away. "And that you are very valuable in our partnership, as a rare existence that stimulates my interests."

"Oh, is that all? So I'm just a rare existence, is it?" the Nanaya questioned, knowing that there was more than that. "You always do like to hide what you really feel behind a veil of smart-sounding words."

Shiki was one of the few people who could get under her skin, not least for his strange abilities and his lack of predictability—the first person she had ever called friend, and more. One of the few she could confide her frustrations to as this protracted conflict drew onward, and the hope for a final victory seemed to become slimmer with each passing year.

'_Yet as an Alchemist of Atlas, I cannot surrender,'_ the Dust of Osiris mused, on one of her seven unused thought processes. _'Our first Director predicted the end of the world, and so we have created methods capable of preventing this outcome, believing in our ability to take data from the past and formulate rules to guide the future towards a desired outcome. But therein lies the rub…should we lose this war, this forbidden knowledge will fall into the hands of the Sorcerer who rules Britannia, and anything with the power to save the world…can also be used to destroy it.'_

"Rather it is you who is too forthright, Shiki," the one blessed with the name of Atlasia said out loud. "Currently, there are too many undefined elements, but I have to view many opposing elements as a plus in our fight for survival. The dogs of Britannia led by their most vicious Hyena, the war-mongering Emperor, Magus Killers, a rogue alchemist of Estray by the name of Fabro Rowan, and the forces of the Middle Eastern Federation. Quite a complicated game this is…"

"Eh, that's rather too complicated for me," the killer remarked with a smirk and a self-deprecating bow. "That's why you're the mastermind, and I'm just the assassin. I will continue to be in your care, Sion."

"And I in yours, Shiki, you who throw my calculations into disarray."

A brief, shared smile as the two walked together towards their planned escaped route.

**

* * *

**

**Mana's Quarters, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

_Thump!_

Upon being thrown unceremoniously to the floor, Mana's eyes snapped open to assess her situation, only to find that the one who had toppled her in her own quarters was none other than a rather underdressed Kallen Kozuki, with the redhead's face only centimeters from hers, a situation that was…unexpected, since she had rather thought that the redhead would sleep until at least the morning after C.C.'s less than tender ministrations.

'_Apparently, she is a lighter sleeper than I would have thought…'_

Then again, the Ryougi had not earned the title of Satsujinki by being unable to react to situations as they came up, and so she her mild look of post-wake dullness melted into mild amusement as she blinked away any residual drowsiness. Despite this strange circumstance…and the informality of their encounter, Mana figured that she had to be polite at least.

"Well, well…good morning, K.K.," the Chokushi no Magan adept said cheekily, her breath hot against Kallen's cheek. "I am sorry about your rather unclothed state, but you woke up rather more quickly than expected. After your wild adventures earlier in the night, I rather expected you to sleep longer…and I certainly didn't expect you to assault me in my sleep, even if you were suffering from _mana _deprivation."

Kallen's brain shut down and rebooted all at once, as the redhead hastily got to her feet and backed up, her whole body flushing as red as her hair as she snatched the robe from the chair to cover her nakedness, then…thinking things over, reached down to offer the Satsujinki a hand, which Mana took, with an appraising look.

"Alright…I'll give you a point or two for that," Mana continued dryly as she got to her feet, never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of teasing. "More than for attempting to ravage me in the middle of the night after just one outing—particularly one that was too bloody to call a proper date."

"I—it wasn't what it looked like," Kallen sputtered in her flustered state, trying to explain what had happened. "I just…it was an accident."

'_I suppose I shouldn't look too inhospitable…since the lady doth protest too much,' _Mana thought to herself, allowing the redhead to stew for a few delicious moments, though she wrinkled her nose as she remembered where that line was from. _'Shakespeare, was it? The Witch is certainly rubbing off on me."_

"Alright, I believe you," the Satsujinki allowed after a moment, her expression softening just a bit as she observed how the part-time terrorist relaxed ever so slightly at these words. "So, how are you feeling, Kallen?"

"..it's nothing that I'm not used to," the half-Britannian responded, though this time, she dared to meet the assassin's eyes. "It's almost as if what happened earlier in Akihabara was just a bad dream, though there's not much chance of that, is there?"

A soft, throaty chuckle.

"No, I'm afraid not," Chokushi no Magan adept replied seriously, looking from the redhead to the beanbag chair beside her and gesturing for Kallen to sit. "And even if you play down your pain, you were rather a mess after Akihabara—though I grant that you did better than I expected in that…skirmish."

Knowing better than to disagree when she was completely at Mana's mercy, the part-time terrorist did as ordered, finding that the seat was more comfortable than she would have expected from furniture in the room of a killer.

"…so if that was a skirmish, what do you call a serious—" Kallen began, then cut herself off, shaking her head. "Actually, don't answer that. So are you going to tell me why you did that, where I am, or why you brought me here?"

The Ryougi only raised an eyebrow as she righted the chair that Kallen had knocked over, and took a seat herself.

"Two days," the raven-haired assassin spoke abruptly, after a moment of silence. "That's how long you've been asleep in my personal quarters, while my associate healed your wounds and your magic circuit itself was recovering from being pushed to its limits."

"Magecraft then?" the redhead asked expectantly, receiving a nod in reply. "And where are we?"

"In an underground complex beneath Ashford Academy," came the quiet reply from the killer. "A place that was once intended at a refuge for magi to hide, after the Empire's great magus purge of 2009…from which we are doing what we can."

Irrationally, she felt herself grow angry at this, because if magecraft could do such powerful things, could save a person from the verge of death, destroy Knightmares, why couldn't these mysterious people do more to help the resistance? Yes, they had mentioned an enemy, but…

_Creak!_

But before she could ask that, the door opened, and as the Grey Witch emerged into view, her slender form clad in a bone-white kimono, amber eyes studying the redhead as if she were but a specimen in a lab.

"About now, you're likely wondering why we are not more open about what we do," the immortal intoned, tilting her head curiously. "Suffice it to say that we have our reasons for remaining hidden, Kallen Kozuki, as do you, since our kind is hunted daily…and by worse foes than you have seen in nightmares, or on your nightly excursions. As such, none of us can afford to be stereotypical knights for justice, as we are those who dwell on the dark side, heretics to the rule of order."

**

* * *

**

**C.C.'s Atelier, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

While Mana, Kallen, and C.C. were having their pleasant discussion, Lelouch Lamperouge was in the midst of a rather draining regimen of physical conditioning, which, after a series of initial warm-ups, had meant combat training, with the hapless raven-haired prince finding himself on the receiving end of what seemed an unending flurry of blows from an irate Ashford magus.

_Clang! Clash! Thwack!_

With each strike, the exile staggered backwards, hands growing numb from the violent vibrations as he barely managing to bring his metal staff up to block, as—

_Slam!_

"Come on Lelouch, you can't call yourself a self-respecting magus if you're physically useless," the blonde demanded, as her metal staff smashed relentlessly against his, forcing him back, back, back, with the outcast prince doing all he could to evade. "I'm not even using magecraft right now!"

_Crash! Whirr! Clang!_

"Do you…have to be…such a sadist, Milly?" the prince huffed and puffed and panted as he tried to counterattack, only—

_Whump!_

—for the Ashford heir to bring her weapon about in a low sweep that knocked Lelouch's legs out from under him, sending him to the ground with a painful thud, with the cold of Milly's staff pressed lightly against his throat.

"If you have air remaining, don't waste it by talking during a fight," Milly chided, sighing as she looked down at the defeated form of Lelouch. "You of all people can ill afford to waste oxygen, though I know you love the sound of your voice. If you ask me, you're just getting what you deserve."

"Ok, I get it. I yield," Lelouch croaked out, collapsing his weapon as the blonde retracted her staff. After an hour of this practice, he had begun to see the minor disadvantages of skipping PE Classes for the last few years, since the exile had not even managed to even to wind his childhood friend, with Milly besting him easily each time, much to his chagrin. "Isn't this enough for today?"

He made no move to get up, certain that rising to his feet would only result in another bout that he would no doubt lose.

"A ten-minute break then," the blonde allowed, rolling her eyes as she considered her subordinate's exhausted form. "I'm a magus, not a goddess of mercy, Lulu. Besides, with your dangerous outings at night and a Dead Apostle likely in the area, you need to learn how to defend yourself from attack. You don't have any offensive magecraft, and your compelling voice won't work on the Dead."

That was partially why C.C. had crafted a weapon for Lelouch, a collapsible telescoping staff forged of magically reinforced rhenium (which had strangely enough once been called Nipponium, after Japan, when first discovered—and as such was a highly appropriate metal for Zero), a metal that was far rarer and sturdier than even the tungsten steels used for military applications.

"Ugh…" the prince groaned, remaining on the ground as he tried to catch his breath. "And how will a staff…help me fight off _those?"_

"You know as well as I do that a staff is the easiest to use defensive weapon," Milly explained, eyeing the weapon in the prince's hand with a fair bit of curiosity, since C.C. had demonstrated the weapon's power earlier. _'How did she create it, I wonder? Projection…no, since projected items don't last long in the world. Curiouser and curiouser.' _"Besides, your staff has another set of properties – the ability to drain heat from what it strikes, as well as the immediately surrounding area, inconveniencing opponents—possibly freezing them if you use enough power."

"Hmm…interesting…" Lelouch replied, looking at the chunk of metal he held with a little more respect as he staggered to his feet and _click-snap! _extended his staff. "Then why aren't we practicing those applications instead?"

"Because those powers will not save you if you don't know the basics of how to use your weapon," Milly replied tersely, saluting with her staff as she surged forward. "Now, again!"

_Clang!_

'_This is going to be a very painful day…'_

**

* * *

**

**Classroom, Ashford Academy**

After the events of two long nights, Kallen and Lelouch were finally able to return to class, where they discovered that in the wake of Zero's appearance in what was becoming known as Gottwald's Folly, as well as the appointment of Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley as the interim Governor General, and the continuing "vampire murders", Ashford Academy was abuzz with rumors and speculation as to what happened, particularly considering that the vampire was apparently targeting those close to the age of those there.

"The torn up bodies of two young girls were found in an alley last night," one student whispered, face pale with horror as she discussed the rumors with her friends. "They were completely drained of blood…"

"No way…do you think it could have been…a vampire?" a second asked fearfully, glancing first at an empty seat in the classroom, one belonging to the somewhat eccentric Miya Hillmisk, and then to the demure redhead in the seat behind. "What do you think, Kallen?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure if vampires really exist," the half-Britannian lied smoothly, doing her best to emulate her friends' reactions. Having encountered the undead familiars of a vampire, it would be rather difficult for her to deny their existence. "But just in case, we should probably stay on campus, where it's safe."

Sensible advice for these times, vampire or no.

"I guess you're right, Kallen," the first student replied, eyes widening as she pulled up a media feed, which was discussing the attacks, specifically that—

'_What?!'_

"…the survivors of these attacks report that the perpetrator matched the description of the masked figure known as Zero…" the newswoman relayed, with Lelouch's eyes snapping over to the screen at those words. "Thus far, the victims of these attacks have all been Britannians in the settlement itself, including some notable businessmen and most recently students. Given Zero's prior actions, it is unknown whether these actions are part of a new campaign of terror being waged by the Eleven resistance movement."

'_That's a damn lie,'_ Kallen snarled mentally, taking care to keep her face impassive. _'The Dead cluster in the ghettos and mostly fed the Japanese…and Lelouch can't be a vampire, he goes out in the sunlight! Besides, why would we kill off random Britannians…it makes no sense!'_

"So, Elevens are…" the ever xenophobic Nina began, breathing rapid and shallow as she began to panic, frightened almost to the point of tears, hands clamped to the sides of her head as she whimpered. "And this Zero is going to kill us…he's going to kill us all!"

"Nina, calm down," her friend Shirley tried to reassure the braided glasses girl. "We don't know for certain—and you shouldn't think badly of people before we know the facts."

"But Zero already killed all those people and caused a slaughter on the bridge," Nina rejoined, eyes wide in terror as she shook. "He admitted to killing Clovis and the Royal Guard…and now he's coming to finish the job, to kill all of us with the help of those Elevens!"

But that was not the worst of it by far, as the announcement was followed by a speech by Luciano Bradley.

"My fellow Britannians in Area 11," the Knight of Ten boomed, his face in a twisted semblance of solemnity. "By now you have all heard of what the killer who calls himself Zero has done, murdering Prince Clovis and the Royal Guard in cold blood, releasing poison gas in Shinjuku, and now targeting innocent young Britannians to strike terror into our proud nation."

'_I have killed far fewer people than you, Luciano Bradley, and I have been asleep these nights…I wonder if the true murderer is you, _Vampire of Britannia,' Lelouch thought to himself, fighting to keep a look of hatred from his face. _'It is people like you I long to destroy, Knight of Ten…'_

"For too long we have let rebellion fester, until at last, a monster is born. This killer, this Zero of the Elevens, must be brought to justice, along with the rebel cells he is aiding," the interim Governor General announced, glaring out at the camera. "Thus, a new series of measures will be needed – we shall fill in the unused subways and mining railways so as to flush our enemies from hiding, cutting off their escape routes. We shall crush the ghettoes that dare to harbor terrorists, even after we have given them the opportunity to become Honorary Britannians. And lastly, we declare Martial Law outside the Settlement, with an Area-wide curfew of 2300 for any without recognized government business, so as allow us to better catch these outlaws. Make no mistake…we will find where this Zero is hiding, and we will utterly destroy him and any who support him. All hail Britannia."

And with that, the transmission ended, with the media stream restored to its regularly scheduled programming.

_Gulp!_

At this statement of intent, those in the classroom grew rather nervous, with anxieties more heightened than ever. It was one thing for speculations about a faceless killer to arise—quite another for the Governor General to declare martial law, among other draconian measures. Could the cure be worse than the disease?

"The Vampire of Britannia as the interim viceroy of Area 11?" Lelouch murmured to himself, feeling a chill run down his spine. "That homicide genius? This can't be good…"

Things would only get harder from here, and the exile had a feeling that vampire or no, Area 11 was about to become a field of slaughter…

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **Since this is a crossover of the world of Kara no Kyoukai and Code Geass (which means no True Ancestors), there have been some…changes, such as Nanaya Shiki never being quite involved with the Tohno Family, the non-existence of Roa, and a few other alterations.

My apologies for taking so long with this update, but I was otherwise preoccupied this week, as I am a volunteer decorator for the Tournament of Roses Parade, and that is rather…time consuming. Thanks for reading once again, and may this be the start of a wonderful new decade for you all! Once again, reviews are much appreciated.


	10. Rhythmical Bustle

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Camelot Research Facility, Tokyo Settlement**

Having nowhere else to go after being released from his imprisonment (due to lack of evidence), Suzaku Kururugi been picked up by Earl Asplund and his assistant Cecile Croomy, the strange duo in charge of Camelot, an research organization that operated as an irregular division of the Britannian Military, operating outside the command structure and regulations of the regular armed forces (hence how he had become a devicer, when such a profession was prohibited to Honorary Britannians in the regular army).

Of course, Private Kururugi had soon discovered that being the pilot of an experimental Knightmare had its downsides, with some of these involving sitting in the cockpit to participate in a daily bevy of tests, dealing with the rather eccentric Earl who saw the White Knightmare Z-01 Lancelot as his beloved child, choking down the strange culinary creations of Cecile Croomy (ranging from unimaginably sour plum sandwiches to jam and vinegar filled onigiri, a combination that had rather…upset his gastrointestinal tract for several hours afterwards – at least he would build up resistance to poison, he supposed).

While karma didn't seem willing to let him die, it was all too willing to make his life a living hell – and this was just on his first day out of prison.

"Tell me again, Private Suzaku," the labcoated Earl inquired once more, looking up at the Lancelot with a one armed Lancelot frame with a frown. "When you fought the terrorists in Shinjuku, did you notice anything unusual about their knightmares? Did one of them, for instance, possess some kind of silvery claw-like gauntlet?"

_Thwack!_

"Lloyd, his name is Private Kururugi!" Cecile admonished sternly, giving the scientist a knife-hand chop to the back of the head. Apart from her usual duties as an assistant, which included tidying the lab, working as a test pilot when necessary, and helping Earl Asplund deal with public relations (which was rather like being the ambassador from a small, yet belligerent nation – constantly creatively reinterpreting overly harsh statements, mediating disputes, and resolving misunderstandings), it was the blunette's unfortunate lot to act as the man's conscience, forcing him to act at least like the caricature of a gentleman.

She did this by force, if necessary, since Lloyd didn't respect many things, and normally cared not one whit about social conventions—except for when failure to respect them led to personal harm.

"But that's how he wrote his name on the information form," the Earl protested, moving away from the blunette as he pointed to the clipboard in his hand, which listed the test data for one "Kururugi Suzaku."

"It's the custom in Area 11 to write the family name first," Cecile chided, waggling a threatening finger at the man, as the scientist merely huffed in reply, not really bothered by it. "You should know that much…"

Perhaps that was somewhat unfair, as the man who some thought of as an overly-large child engrossed with his toys didn't really have a reason to, as he pretty much existed only within the confines of his lab, only emerging from his lair to cajole, irk, or otherwise wheedle an unwary superior into letting him deploy his latest creation. How could such a man, a man who lived in his own world be expected to know or respect such piddly things as naming conventions?

"It's not as if I deal with Honorary Britannians on a daily basis," the Earl groaned, waving away his assistant to correct through physical violence and coercion. Yes, in a way, he was grateful for her efforts towards re-educating/correcting him, even if they were quite draconian in nature, but there were more pressing issues to deal with at the moment. And yet… _'I suppose it won't do to lose too many brain cells from Cecile's brand of percussive maintenance, even if she means well…' _

'_Such as what it was that damaged my poor Lancelot…,'_ the man mused, looking towards the empty socket where the Lancelot's left arm used to be—an arm that had suddenly exploded into flames, as the core temperature of it rose to critical levels in a chain reaction that would have destroyed the frame had the arm not been ejected. _'The most likely candidate being a variant of Rakshata's Radiant Wave surger…'_

A troubling notion to the Earl of Pudding, for if _that woman_ had begun to meddle with affairs in Area 11, using it to test her inefficient devices…then it meant that there was the possibility that his wonderful creations would be damaged—and at the very least, the possibility that his technological supremacy would be challenged—a thought that disturbed him to no end. Not because people might die when they feuded – oh no, a sociopath didn't care about something as mundane as someone else's suffering—but because it would be a blow to his ego, and that just wouldn't do.

"So, Private…Kururugi, was it, are you still thinking about those abnormalities or is something else on your mind?" the Earl inquired more solicitously, hoping to avoid another smack to the head. "Your synchronization ratio with the Lancelot seems to be rather less than usual today…and on a day when we need the data more than ever."

Indeed, merely two days after his release from captivity, the Honorary Britannian had been summoned by the Director of Camelot in his capacity as the Lancelot's pilot, as the researchers needed data to help facilitate the construction and calibration of a new arm for the Seventh Generation Knightmare, since the last had been melted into a lump of useless slag in Shinjuku.

"I'm just unhappy that the terrorists were able to get away after killing so many people," Suzaku Kururugi replied honestly, somewhat distracted, even as he wondered what more the scientist wanted from him. Everything he recalled had already been put into his after-action report, after all, so why was Earl Asplund questioning him further? "And if you want to know about anomalies…the only one I can think of was that there was a one-armed Glasgow in Shinjuku…painted red."

A sickly gleaming red, as if it had been wrought of drying blood and rust, the color that Suzaku hated more than anything in the world, because it reminded him of horrors from his past – of a voice hidden in the shadows of his mind, whispering how much better the world would look if only he gave in…a voice he had become reacquainted with thanks to the torture he had endured of late.

'_A voice…whispering of fire and destruction…a voice whispering of revenge…' _Kururugi thought to himself, fighting back that homicidal impulse never too far from the surface. _'A voice like…'_

…Zero's, perhaps?

Just the thought of that possibility sent a shudder of revulsion through the Honorary Britannian, as the devicer had told himself time and time again that he was nothing like the masked killer whose faceless visage haunted his dreams. Indeed, perhaps if he had actually stopped to think to think about it, Suzaku would have likely realized that this was the reason behind his instinctual revulsion for the vigilante, since dreams and lies, nightmares and anxiety, evil and divine—people tended to dislike that which was too similar to the self.

'_I should have brought him in, even if it cost me my life,'_ the soldier hissed in his mind, angry at himself that he didn't try to bring the masked villain to justice. _'I decided that it wouldn't be worth it, since if I didn't show up at my trial, the military would likely launch reprisals against the Japanese – but I never imagined that he would start killing civilians out of malicious glee, making him worse than a mere terrorist. Forget about justice…he's just a murderer, one who wants his crimes known, as he dares the world to stop him.'_

Strangely enough, his mind skipped over the fact that Britannia did much the same thing but on a larger scale, more or less proving that while the death of a few people was an outrage, while that of millions was really but a statistic, as some world leader or other had once mused. Or perhaps he simply wanted to believe that there was still some good in Britannia, that it was the enemies of the Empire that had been responsible for all those deaths? Who knew. Still, such selective assimilation of information was only human, and it worked well as part of the cage of self-loathing and disgust that reinforced the restraints of Private Kururugi's moral code, forcing him to obey those in power because authority had to be right.

But…

"Red, eh?" Earl Asplund repeated, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he turned to his blue-haired assistant, the long-suffering Cecile Croomy. "You don't think it was…?"

"…Rakshata's radiant wave surger?" the blunette completed, lips curling into a frown at the thought of that invention having been perfected. For Cecile remembered well the third member of what many considered the "unholy trinity" of elite scientists that had attended the Imperial Colchester Institute: a group that had consisted of herself, the odd Lloyd Asplund, and one Rakshata Chawla, a sometimes friend/rival/loose cannon who had eventually ventured off to the Chinese Federation, where she had experimented with medical cybernetics for a time. "But I thought that radiant wave technology was just a theory of hers that she long abandoned, since…"

"…yes, yes, the prototype she made exploded mid-demo, destroying one of the Institute's laboratories and leaving her with that scar on her forehead," the lab-coated earl recalled almost fondly, furrowing his eyebrows as his thoughts drifted back to that time. "As well as destroying one of my puddings when molten metal dripped onto the refrigerator on the floor below, which truth be told, was the greater loss."

Had Cecile been anyone less used to dealing with Lloyd's…eccentricities, she would probably have fallen over in shock at this statement, but as it was…

"…I think she's still holding a grudge after you ran to check up on your pudding instead of her after the explosion…"

But the Earl only looked at his assistant incomprehensibly, as if he failed to understand why his erstwhile rival Rakshata would be upset over something like that. Each had their quirks, and knew the other to be more or less sociopathic anyway, so…

"…of course I checked on my pudding," Lloyd huffed, his lips twitching into an ever-so-slight frown at the indignity of it all. "It's my most important food group, after all."

"Somehow, I don't think most nutritionists classify pudding as a food group," Cecile replied drily, shaking her head as she tried to bring the man's attention back to the topic at hand. "But I believe we were discussing the possibility of Rakshata's radiant wave surger being used by the rebel forces…but where could have they have gotten the aid?"

"Perhaps the resistance is importing them from the Chinese Federation on ships with false cargo manifests?" Earl Asplund speculated idly, tilting his head as his lemony expression remained, though he dismissed that a moment later. "Or…bah, it's not my concern anyway. I'm a scientist, not a politician."

True enough. Besides which, Lloyd Asplund privately rather looked forward to a rematch of creations with Rakshata, as that woman was the only one who came near to challenging his technological prowess.

"Are you sure we shouldn't report this to—" Cecile began quietly, trying to broach the topic of what they _should _do with this information, then shook her head. It was only speculation anyway, and—

"More paperwork? And over mere speculation?" Lloyd asked sardonically, not wanting to think about that bane of his existence. "I think not. Besides, we have more than enough work to do, what with repairing the Lancelot and the…"

_Clip-clop-clip-clop!_

The mad scientist trailed off as a slim, green-eyed brunette approached, wearing the rather revealing black and purple uniform of the elite Knightmare division known as Valkyrie Squadron – this being the young Marika Soresi, one of Luciano Bradley's aides…and the younger sister of the late Purist Kewell Soresi.

Given that Bradley, the man known as the Vampire of Britannia, was not known for his interpersonal skills (or his skills at much besides combat), he tended to rely on others to act as his go-betweens in situations where neither of these skills were really relevant (and as pleasant as it would be to threaten the bureaucrats working under him with painful death, they were the ones who did most of the grunt work of running Area 11, so…such would not be the wisest course of action).

Thus, while the homicide genius came up with new and inventive ways to kill people and spread terror in Area 11, the members of Valkyrie Squadron found themselves assigned to the thankless tasks of actually keeping order and keeping things running in his stead. These included attending meetings, performing inspections, and of course…dealing with the technology specialists.

"Good afternoon, Earl Asplund," the girl greeted courteously, bowing deferentially to the man who was technically of superior rank (and to his assistant, who most consulted when they wanted a reasonable response). "And Ms. Croomy, of course."

Of course, she did not greet the Eleven sitting in the cockpit of the Lancelot, since even if he was an Honorary Britannian, the son of Genbu Kururugi had no business piloting a Knightmare Frame for Britannia – not when he was likely in cahoots with the nefarious Zero, the man who had killed her brother (or caused his death, which to her mind was the same thing).

"Good afternoon, Lady Soresi," the Earl of Pudding returned, eyeing the woman's rather revealing uniform critically, though deciding not to comment on her state of dress since it _was_ less revealing than Cecile's formal gown. "And what brings you here today?"

"I presume you are here to inquire about the feasibility of the new units the Governor General requisitioned?" added Cecile Croomy, looking at the clipboard in her hands, trying to get down to business before Lloyd made another unfavorable impression. "The Gloucester modifications?"

"Yes," the brunette replied tersely, raising an eyebrow as she noted that the two were apparently more practical than she had expected. "Considering the resources available to your division, these should not be a problem…especially if in return, you are given permission to deploy these units in battle, so as to gather test data."

"While that sounds interesting, the Special Engineering Corps is currently occupied with repairing the Lancelot and gathering data for a mass production version," Cecile answered politely, her words nothing but the perfect truth. "To begin a new project at this stage would be difficult, and would detract from our main priorities at the moment."

In negotiations (for a negotiation this was, given that the Camelot Research Facility was outside the normal chain of command, and Bradley could not simply _order_ them to do anything), it was usually disadvantageous to accept a first offer – something that even Lloyd Asplund knew, given that interactions between factions or divisions that didn't directly control one another tended to boil down to the question of "but what can you do for me?"

This was one of the basic rules of Britannia, where the strong survived, and the weak were preyed upon, in an excellent display of social Darwinism. As a graduate of a military academy (and an officer who had served under Princess Cornelia herself), Marika Soresi knew this full well, having experienced many interactions of this sort in the past.

Knowing this was not the same as accepting this, however, and as an impetuous youth, it was rather l…irritating for her to be given the run around—or perhaps that was something she had probably learned from her former commander, Princess Cornelia.

Unfortunately, since she wasn't a member of the royal family, she had to respect basic civilities, or life could become rather…difficult for all involved.

"I have been authorized to offer a written guarantee to deploy the Lancelot and the other units under your command at each battle your division is present at," Bradley's aide-de-camp broke in, attempting to sweeten her initial offer. "Would that be of interest to you, Earl Asplund?"

While it was fairly easy to renege on verbal agreements, the same could not be said for agreements in writing, as even the implacable homicide genius called the Vampire of Britannia could be defeated in battle by the same foe that had stymied gods and demons in its time - paperwork.

"Well, we do have several of the Lancelot prototypes we are not using at the moment," the Director of Camelot replied after a moment, knowing that such an offer would not be made a second time—even if it was only on the table to get his attention. "However, there would be certain difficulties in implementing these technologies in the proposed GX-01 Alpha, especially in the time requested, since…."

An eloquent shrug, as Lloyd trailed off after a moment as he felt a pair of eyes bore into the back of his head, as Cecile watched him calmly, with only her gaze promising a bit of corrective physical violence after the representative left if he went too far.

Needless to say, the Governor General's aide was not…pleased at these evasions, or transparent attempts to wrangle more from her superior. Had the Special Engineering Corps not been a conventional military research organization that could only be ordered around by the royal family, Marika Soresi would have been tempted to pull rank on the Director, since she was the Governor General's agent. But since she couldn't…

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you the Empire's preeminent developer of advanced Knightmare technology?" the pilot asked, deciding to try flattery, as her experience as a daughter of the nobility had taught her that pandering to a nobleman's ego usually produced excellent results. "So shouldn't it be a simple matter for you to perform these modifications?"

Unfortunately for her, Earl Asplund was not an ordinary nobleman by any stretch of the word, and thus was unfazed, since he saw the aide's flattery as merely stating the obvious, a remark no more observant than if Marika had said something along the lines of "people die when they are killed."

"A simple matter if I had all the parts required on hand, but as usual, I am missing several vital components, the most important of which are time and pilots, as other units are most unwilling to lend me their members," the Earl of Pudding replied after a moment's consideration, stroking his chin in thought. "Though I suppose I could use Private Kururugi as a test pilot for these models, since he has proven himself capable in the Lancelot's—"

"No!"

Being a member of the Purist Faction herself, Marika was rather horrified at the prospect of an Eleven—especially _that_ Eleven, the murdering scum that had killed her brother—testing out machines that she and her comrades were to pilot, and so her face contorted in rage for a brief moment as a strangled cry escaped her lips.

Said violent outburst interrupted the Earl mid-sentence, causing everyone in the immediate area to turn and stare at the one who had disrupted the relative calm.

"I mean…no, that won't be necessary," the brunette amended, flushing in embarrassment as she realized how everyone was looking at her, as if she was a spoiled child throwing a tantrum—something that had not happened to her for many years now. "The Governor General would be perfectly willing to approve a larger budget for this priority item, and I'm sure one of the Valkyrie Squadron pilots would be more than happy to help, since the Alpha variant would be made for— "

'_Just not me…I don't know if I can stand being around this strange—'_

"Oh, well that settles things, then," Earl Asplund acknowledged, causing Marika to breathe an internal sigh of relief. And then he continued. "Since you volunteered, you can schedule convenient hours for data collection with Cecile. I look forward to working with you on this new project, since you came highly recommended by Princess Cornelia."

At those words, Marika Soresi froze in place, her face an expressionless mask that blinked once-twice-and—thrice as her brain took in the Earl of Pudding's statement.

'_Schedule hours? Volunteered? So I have to work with…_him?_' _the girl thought with disgust, glancing at the garish white and gold armor of the Z-01 Lancelot and thinking of the Eleven seated in its cockpit, the man who had been responsible for such devastation earlier. _'With…an Eleven?'_

"Will there be anything else we can do for you, Lady Soresi?" Cecile Croomy cut in briskly, interposing herself between the Director of Camelot and the Governor General's representative before Lloyd could antagonize the poor woman any further. Even if it was his hobby to mock those in power (a hobby in which he often indulged), there were limits to what was acceptable (limits that she reminded him of by the simple expedient of beating them into his body…but only when outsiders weren't around, so as not to undercut his authority). "We of Camelot are, of course, always at the Governor General's disposal, and indeed, at that of the Holy Empire of Britannia."

Which was a more or less a lie, given the Governor General's lack of authority over the irregular research division, and the fact that Lloyd Asplund alone decided what projects Camelot took on—but at least it sounded diplomatic, rather like how Honorary Britannian was an diplomatic way of saying "Number with a fancy title and little else."

And on the note of numbers…

"Just one further thing, Ms. Croomy, unrelated to the Governor General's requisition," Marika Soresi said after an uncomfortable moment, words dripping with unveiled distaste as she handed to the blunette an envelope marked with the seal of Ashford Academy. "Your request that the…Honorary Britannian…working for your division should be allowed to attend school has been approved by Lord Bradley. If there is nothing else…?"

Seeing nothing, the young soldier did what a blue-eyed brown-haired pilot of a giant purple mecha a universe away challenged himself not to do when confronted with threats to his comfort zone: run away (or at least, leave the area with all polite speed).

_Clip-clop-clip-clop._

As her footsteps receded into the distance, more than a few of the staff members watched her retreating form, until at last the aide was out of sight and sound, letting relative peace return to the test facility.

A relative peace that was broken by the sounds of paper tearing, the quirk of Lloyd's eyebrow, and a tentative query from the Lancelot's speakers.

"…so I'm going to be allowed to attend school?" the Honorary Britannian asked hesitantly, wondering whether or not he should dare to hope that was true.

"Yes, congratulations, Suzaku," Cecile replied, giving the young man a genuine smile. "Starting next week, you will be a student at Ashford Academy—"

"—where he will no doubt be used as bait to lure out Zero," Lloyd cut in, cynical as ever about what the intent behind this was. "Most of the young women victimized so far have attended that institution, and given that Private Kururugi does have a known connection to Zero, I'm sure the Governor General's just using him to…"

He trailed off at a very meaningful look from Cecile, who took the opportunity to cut in.

"It will be a great opportunity…I hear that Ashford is a very liberal school, and you should have the chance to be around other people your age," the technician said, trying to salvage what she could from the situation. "It's not healthy for a young man to be in a lab all day."

"I don't understand why a school would be any better, since at this level it's just mindless propaganda anyway," the Earl of Pudding answered drily, shaking his head. "Besides, what would good would it do you to attend a normal school, when your place is on the battlefield?"

"Lloyd…" the blunette spoke softly in warning, but the scientist continued heedless of the danger.

"You're just a born killer, broken from the start, with a complex for obeying the rules because they let you get what you desire," the mad scientist observed, looking over towards the Knightmare as it seemed to _twitch_ at the offensive remark. "Killing those terrorists in Shinjuku with such ruthlessness and ease, why, you must be a homicide genius…just like the Knight of Ten and Zero. You probably picked it up from your father, who wanted Japan to resist to the last…"

"No…you're…that's wrong…I'm not," Suzaku protested against the voice that echoed the one inside his head. "I'm nothing like him…nothing like _them_…I'm…I'm…I'm…I'll never be like them!"

_Thwack!_

"Lloyd, that's a terrible thing to say!" Cecile chided, shaking the mad scientist by the scruff of his neck as the Earl finally went too far with his remarks.

Still, the sociopathic scientist was not so easily silenced, or dissuaded from his train of thought.

"They—say—beings that are too much alike despise one another," the Earl managed to gasp out, as he was being shaken. "Besides—why—would the Knight of Ten—do you the dubious favor of letting you attend school if he didn't think of you either as a—killer like him—or as bait?"

"No…no…you're wrong! I'm in the military to _STOP_ people from dying!" Suzaku replied firmly, his voice ringing with so much naïve conviction that it made everyone in the facility pause in near astonishment.

A dry chuckle.

"And that's why you pilot the most advanced killing machine in the Empire?" Lloyd shrugged, having heard too many idealistic statements like these in his youth. "To stop people from dying…just like Zero saved you?"

"No!" came the vehement reply. "Zero is a terrorist, a murderer who—"

"Apparently found a reason to save you—perhaps he thought that you two were alike?" Earl Asplund inquired solicitously, tilting his head. "Or maybe because he thought you would owe him a debt?"

Within the cockpit of the Lancelot, Suzaku Kururugi stiffened, his mind recalling the offer that the masked vigilante had made, as well as Zero's last words – that should the Honorary Britannian live, he would owe Zero his life.

_'The system would have worked even without the intervention of that masked terrorist, after all,'_ Kururugi thought, angry at himself that he had not attempted to bring Zero to justice, since the harbinger of chaos was still free and murdering innocent Britannians. _'He just wanted to cause pandemonium and chaos, like the ravenous beast he is, living off the fear of others…'_

A rather ironic thought for a murderer with the blood of an oni, a soldier who brought an end to what he saw as senseless killing by laying waste to his enemies—following the rules and killing as he was told.

'_It's just that none of this makes any sense...to be saved by a murderer disgusts me.'_

"Your pack of contradictions will get you killed one day, probably sooner rather than later," Earl Asplund spoke into the silence, always ready with the last word, as—"Urk!"

And with that, Lloyd Asplund was subjected once more to the horrors of physical discipline.

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement**

Far away from the Camelot research facility and the emotional (or physical) anguish of those therein, life went on more or less as usual, albeit with an malaise of fear and uncertainty hanging over the teeming masses, chafing under the inconveniences of martial law and the bloody reign of "Zero." Granted, civilians had to get used to seeing number of military police patrolling the streets during the day in place of the usual law enforcement authorities, but these changes didn't really affect the way most Britannians went about their everyday routines, as if the nighttime terrors were nothing more than a bad dream.

Those who had lost friends, family, loved ones to the rash of killings—and had seen how impotent the military was in stopping the killer "Zero" despite their efforts, knew that it was anything but, with many students shaken rather out of sorts by recent developments. This was especially evident at Ashford Academy, which the majority of the victims had once attended, with the student body visibly on edge, with even the usually ebullient and effervescent Milly Ashford acting colder, more detached, and the usually mellow Lelouch Lamperouge seeming remarkably irritable—a terror-inspiring combination, since it meant that two more pillars of certainty had been removed from life at the Academy.

And yet, they had gotten off lightly compared to the Elevens, who were forced to bear the brunt of the draconian measures imposed by the Knight of Ten, measures that included travel and work restrictions (with all except Honorary Britannians kept out of the Settlement—and even those were subjected to thorough inspections at military checkpoints), systematic door to door searches for contraband in the ghettos (at midnight, no less, resulting in a great many summary executions for "obstruction of justice" or many other trifling matters), and increased harassment in general, as they were reminded of their status as a conquered people.

Not that most Britannians thought about the plight of the Elevens at a time like this, given that the criminal who called himself Zero had obviously been one of _them,_ a cur who thrived on murder and terror…who seemed to kill for the sport of it. Indeed, by the way "Zero" dressed and acted, it was almost as if he was declaring himself the equal of the royal family…a notion that most Britannians found revolting, enraging them so much that they wanted to kill him and all those he was associated with.

Surprisingly enough, Lelouch found himself agreeing with the opinion of the general populace (at least where this fake Zero was concerned, partially because the imposter was blackening his alter ego's name), and thus the exiled prince had begun to lay the groundwork for a plan to lure out the false Zero and kill him. Naturally, this required knowledge of the patrol schedules of troops within the Settlement, an understanding of the nature of the enemy (which meant an analysis of the killer's modus operandi, cross referencing the testimony of witnesses, and studying the crime scenes), and a thorough of the terrain in which he wished to set his trap.

Naturally in these troubled times, it would look rather suspect for a young man to be out alone, observing soldiers and jotting down notes about their patrol routes, numbers, and other such (or for that matter, going out for underground chess gambling tournaments), so the ever resourceful Milly Ashford had offered to help her subordinate with the matter, noting that while his name might translate to "suspect" or "suspicious one", it would not do for the name to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as the exile's forged identity probably would not hold up to close scrutiny if he were to be arrested.

Given that she had proposed this during one of their combat "training sessions", where the Lamperouge magus was forced to try his hardest just to avoid being beaten to a pulp, Lelouch had foolishly enough agreed, hoping that it would spare him a bit of pain.

And thus it was that Milly had quietly pulled a few (ok, a lot) of strings, setting Lelouch up for a date with fellow student Shirley Fenette, the green-eyed orangette who was known to have a crush on Lelouch by everyone but the young man himself—a course of action that the outcast prince was not particularly thrilled about, as he would have preferred to be accompanied by someone more capable of defending herself.

He admitted (grudgingly) that he was probably overthinking things, since no one paid too much attention to a happy couple, and Milly had excellent reasons for choosing who she did (namely that Mana's Japanese heritage would arouse suspicions in this troubled time, Kallen was too impulsive and quick to anger, and Milly herself, as the daughter of a noble house, was too well known—besides which, for Milly to go shopping with Lelouch would be the equivalent of throwing liquid sakuradite on long running rumors about the two of them).

'_Somehow, I should have known this was what Milly had in mind…as if I needed any _more_ entanglements for Nunnally to misunderstand,'_ the Black Prince groused mentally, even as the two wandered hither and fro through the settlement. No doubt his innocent sister would ask him some…interesting…questions, should she learn of this rendezvous (probably from Milly, who enjoyed tormenting him), given that the nefarious green-haired witch C.C. had already begun to corrupt her with strange impressions of what Lelouch did at night. _'I suppose if Nunnally asks, I can just say that Shirley and I just walked around the Settlement for a while on an errand for the Student Council President.'_

Which was…true enough, since the duo had gone to a wine shop to pick out a birthday present for Ruben Ashford, Milly's grandfather as the first stop in their meandering date. Considering that Milly and her grandfather were largely responsible for sheltering him from the Empire for nearly seven years, buying the old man a present was the very least he could do.

As to why Lelouch had decided on wine? _'When in doubt, go with something alcoholic,'_ was the rule of thumb when buying presents for Britannian nobility (or ex-nobility), a tidbit that had served the exile quite well over the years.

"Erm…Lulu," Shirley spoke up, flushing ever so slightly as she looked up timidly at the Black Prince from behind a rack of champagne bottles. "Thanks for asking me to come with you today."

"Of course," Lelouch replied, favoring the orangette with a lopsided smile. In his casual clothes, he looked quite different from the model student that most thought of him as. "I thought you'd appreciate the change, seeing how campus has been of late. It's been rough with everything that's happened."

"Yeah…it's hard to believe that someone in my club was killed just a few days ago," the girl answered, eyes distant as she recalled the purple-haired figure of Miya Hillmisk, one of her comrades. "You never think it can happen to anyone you know, especially at Ashford, which is like a sanctuary from the world, but then…"

A tired, pained chuckle issued from Lelouch's lips.

"It happens, and you start to wonder if you'll be next," the raven-haired scion of the Emperor sighed, looking away with a strange, inscrutable expression, making him seem years older. "I suppose we should prepare ourselves for change…since nothing stays the same forever."

Shaking his head, he replaced his pleasant expression as Shirley chose a Chardonnay from one of the other racks, a vintage from one of the famed Napa Valley vineyards of California in a year when they were not plagued by torrential rain and mudslides.

"How does this one seem, Lulu?" she asked, holding out the bottle to him.

"Hmm…not a bad selection, I suppose, as some of the best Chardonnays in the world come from Napa Valley," Lelouch replied, taking the bottle and hefting it, as if its weight would be a determining factor in the purchase (which it wouldn't be). "Still, I think Principal Ashford prefers something a little richer…so maybe a Sopron? That part of Hungary is well known for its fine wines."

"You certainly know a lot about wines," the orangette remarked, somehow not surprised that Lelouch, with his…unusual hobby of chess gambling (among other things), would know about alcoholic beverages. Why, she could almost picture him as a dangerously suave rogue, sitting in front of a chessboard as he pondered his next move, sipping a glass of Pinot Noir and stroking a white cat in his lap… "You haven't been…drinking them, have you?"

'_Ok…I've been reading way too many spy novels,' _the orangette thought to herself, shaking her head. It wasn't as if Lelouch was some sort of criminal mastermind planning to rule the world or anything, even if he did give off a strangely distant air of mingled fragility and anger.

A soft velvety laugh from the exiled prince.

"I just learned about wines, that's all…I've certainly never tried any," the Lamperouge magus answered, raising an eyebrow. "I need my wits about me when I play against the nobility."

Which raised another concern, as the two made their way over to the wines from Sopron…

"Yeah, I guess. But…speaking of playing…you're not…going gambling these days, are you Lulu?" Shirley asked _en sotto voce_. "You've been disappearing a lot, even though it's a lot more dangerous now with that maniac Zero on the loose."

At those words, Lelouch flinched, though fortunately, his outreached hand had not yet grasped a bottle before him. Making to cover for his sudden motion, the magus took hold of the first bottle that met his eye – a Pinot Noir from the Sopron vineyards.

'_Hmm, not quite…'_

"Oh, don't worry Shirley, I'm not foolish enough to risk my life for something like that," Lelouch responded seriously, his voice low and sensual as he looked into her eyes with his intense purple gaze, giving her one of his enigmatic smiles. "Besides, for all my bad habits, I'm hardly a rake. And…I've found…a better way to spend my time."

_Ba-dump!_

Shirley swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as her heart pounded wildly in her chest at the sudden realization of how close together the two were standing—and that they were alone, on what many might consider a—

'_Could it be that this is a d-d-date?' _she asked herself, eyes wide as she stepped back involuntarily. '_Yes, I'll make it a date!'_

After some time, the two finally came to a decision, choosing a Blue Frankish, a spicy red wine that was quite well known among wine connoisseurs as the "Pinot Noir of the East," and leaving the store, stepping out into the ever-bustling Omotesandō Mall.

"Since I've taken up so much of your time, could interest you in a bit of cheesecake to make up for it?" Lelouch inquired solicitously, with a somewhat rakish smile crossing his lips. "I hear that there's an excellent little shop for that nearby."

Comically, Shirley nearly fell over herself in her haste to say yes, an everyday event that set them both to laughing—awkwardly at first, then, warmly.

"I—alright...lead the way, Lulu," the orangette said at last, falling into step beside her longtime crush as the two took the scenic route around the city, with Lelouch taking mental notes on the state of the city and how the troops had been deployed, while Shirley tried—and failed—to work up enough courage to take the prince's hand.

Soon enough, they reached their destination, a rustic looking shop styled "Café Ahnenerbe", where the two bought two of the daily desert specials: two slices of green tea cheesecake with raspberries, and two piping hot raspberry mint tisanes to go with it, all packed into convenient takeaway containers for those who would rather eat in the park across the street.

Unsurprisingly, this couple chose to do so as well, not least because it was rare enough to just be outside these days—and because there were far fewer people in the park, so they could have their conversation in relative privacy (important since Shirley – and Lelouch – were both easily embarrassed when it came to talk of relationships), sitting down on a bench in front of the fountain, where…

"There are certainly a lot of cats in the park today," Lelouch observed wryly from his seat as he scanned his surroundings, noting a line of cats meowing and making their way towards the center of the park. "I don't think I've seen this many…ever. It's very strange."

When the cats reached their destination, they scattered, some heading to places under the trees, some curling up on free benches, and some continuing to walk about lazily, but all with something in common — all were within sight of a bench not too far from the couple, where sat a small prepubescent girl wearing a heavy black coat over a charcoal grey dress, a great black bow in her blue hair and a tawny cat sitting in her lap.

'_What is this sense of mingled eeriness and familiarity…?' _Lelouch wondered, somehow feeling a jolt of recognition as his eyes fell upon the blue-haired girl, although he knew that he had never seen her before in his life. _'Why am I feeling a sense of déjà vu?'_

He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, though Shirley took the gesture the wrong way, thinking that the exile was displeased with the presence of the felines.

"Oh, come on, Lulu, they're cute, aren't they?" the orangette rejoined, smiling at the sight and sound of so many content seeming cats. "Just enjoy yourself…"

'_It doesn't happen when I look at the other cats, whether tabbies, tawny cats, grey cats, or ginger cats…just…'_

"Nyaa!"

But his thoughts were interrupted by a pure white cat adorned with a white ribbon and dangling tassels around its neck, a snowy feline that padded up to the couple and hopped into Lelouch's lep, settling itself there as if claiming that space as its absolute territory.

'_Another feeling of déjà vu? The same as when looking at the girl in black?'_

"Alright…I suppose I can deal with a cat or two. Especially a pretty white cat like this one, right, Shirley?" Lelouch noted, watching as the cat nuzzled itself against his stomach, with the orangette reaching over to scratch its neck.

Somehow feeling a _look_ burning into the side of his head, the magus glanced over at the girl in black, finding that the blue-haired girl was looking at him suspiciously, her red eyes somehow annoyed—and somehow seeming much older than the girl herself.

Slightly embarrassed, the exiled prince looked away, looking back down at the garden of cats.

"Though these brown ones are nice too…and the grey ones," Lelouch quipped, earning a purr from one of the cats scattered around the park—and a full glare from the girl in black…which even Shirley took note of this time, leaving the orangette somewhat unsettled, thinking she had offended a regular resident of the park.

"Oh, I'm sure Lulu doesn't mean any offense…he thinks that all cats are nice! Really!" the orangette said aloud, looking over at the girl the cats all looked to, who nodded slowly, as if somewhat mollified, but said nothing.

_Dong!_

An hour passed, and with the chiming of the clock, the little girl in black rose from her seat and walked out of the park, with the cats following her—though the white one did so only reluctantly.

"How odd. It's almost as if she was like the Pied Piper…but for cats," Shirley remarked, earning a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from Lelouch. "W-W-Why are you looking at me like that? I just like reading old stories…"

"I'm just amused, is all…that's a wonderful hobby, Shirley," Lelouch returned, after a moment. "Better than me, whose only real hobby is playing chess and falling victim to Milly's pranks. Compared to you, I don't have much to contribute to the world, do I?"

But Shirley was not about to let the Black Prince indulge himself in self-deprecation.

"Don't put yourself down, Lulu!" Shirley admonished, finding a sudden surge of confidence from who knows where. Mayhaps it was the fact she was finally on a date with her longtime crush? "I remember a long time ago, when you helped out that old man without saying a word. You act apathetic, as if you don't really care, but…if someone ever really needs help, you always step in, irritable as you might seem about it. Back then I thought, if I ever really need to be saved, it will be someone like Lulu who saves me."

A nervous, almost pained chuckle.

"You're exaggerating, Shirley…I'm not that reliable," the Vice President of the Student Council murmured, looking away. "I'm just the guy who gets roped into doing everybody's dirty work, your everyday Lelouch Lamperouge."

"That's not true...!" the orangette insisted vehemently. "You might act like you don't care, but you have a good heart. Since long ago, I've always believed that you'd come and help me no matter what the problem was. Even today…you asked me to come with you to make me feel better."

"You're giving me too much credit, Shirley," Lelouch sighed, trying to dissuade her from believing in someone who would undoubtedly let her down in the end. "I'm not that good of a person."

'_And if you believe I am, you're going to be disappointed in the end…'_

"It's alright," Shirley said, looking him in the eye. "It's what I believe, so let me go on believing it."

To that protestation of faith, a perplexed Lelouch Lamperouge had no response, struck speechless for one of the few times in his life.

* * *

**Rooftop, Ashford Academy**

Retreating to the rooftop of the Student Council Clubhouse for a bit of peace and quiet after a long day, a tired Milly Ashford found that she was not alone, as another who had apparently had the same idea was already there, leaning motionless against the rooftop railing, her silhouette framed by the setting sun as her green-hair trailed in the wind.

"Greetings, Magus of Ashford," the other spoke quietly, not even bothering to turn around and look to see who it was. "I trust things are well in hand for the night's operation."

"And greetings to you, C.C.," Milly replied politely, quirking a brow as she studied her counterpart's form, a form dressed in what seemed to be a floor length ball gown, an affair of white lace and ruffles with detachable sleeves, a lace-up bodice, and a layered skirt, flaring out as it dropped, trimmed with long elegant ruffles—all seeming to glow golden in the sun. _'It certainly makes me feel severely underdressed in my school uniform…' _"Aye. As of now, we are simply waiting for Lelouch to return from his date, so we can begin final preparations for midnight."

"I see," the First Magician voiced, her response rather noncommittal as she turned to the blonde and handed her a strange object from up one of her sleeves. "Well then, since the Lamperouge magus wishes to go along with you, give him this."

"Eh? What's this?" Milly asked, puzzled at the sight of the object, which seemed rather like a second collapsible staff—or perhaps like a child's toy wand, with a gold star and wings attached at one end. At first glance, it seemed to be an inert piece of metal, but—

"It was a gift from one of my…old friends," C.C. said simply, dropping it into the blonde's hands. "A magical artifact of great power that—"

Milly's eyebrows shot up towards the sky at the words 'magical artifact of great power', especially as she couldn't see how the contraption in her hand could be anything but a children's toy.

An eloquent shrug as the Grey Witch rolled her eyes.

"He had…a very strange sense of humor," the Sorceress related after a moment of silence. "Anyway, give it to Lelouch and tell him not to charge it with mana unless it's absolutely necessary, since it…lacks subtlety."

"Lacks subtlety?" Milly repeated, though C.C. just shook her head, as if clearing her mind of a bad memory.

"If he has to use it, you'll find out what I mean soon enough," was all the Grey Witch said, before turning away to look off into the distance once more. "You know, it's strange. Looking down at the world in which one lives, there is sense of something surreal in the magnificent vista."

"The experience called 'far,'" the Ashford magus stated. "A vision that creates a boundary between you and the world, making it easier to feel that the world one exists in is the space around you, rather than the world below."

"Indeed," the Sorceress intoned, voice sounding, for just a moment, a thousand years away. "Under normal circumstances, humans cannot live outside a box—one created by common sense and the bonds of reason. The attempt at doing more is merely what happens when your reasoning, represented by your knowledge, and your experience, represented by your realization, crash against one another..."

Milly laughed softly as she looked at her counterpart, intrigued by the choice of topic.

"Any particular reason behind your choice of clothing today?" the heir of Ashford inquired in barely more than a murmur. "Or these rather strange topics?"

"Just thoughts of the past," the Sorceress mused, golden eyes looking out over the gleaming buildings in the distance. "Of the heart that lies hidden within a living world, a heart that catches the seeds of humanity's dreams."

"Are you speaking of Akasha, of the Root?"

"Mayhaps," C.C. intoned enigmatically. "An empty vessel into which all is poured—the ultimate origin. A chamber of secrets which many seek to reach, whether magus, sorcerer, or demon—the ultimate destination. And for that goal, what will people sacrifice? Something unimportant, something ordinary, something…irreplaceable, for the illusion of eternity."

"How wearisome," Milly spoke, turning to look into the setting sun. "And yet…"

A heavy sigh.

"And yet in the ages of humanity, humans advance by strife and chaos," the First Magician whispered. "…out of cold despair and the sin called victory, built on the pain of the defeated. And so they advance, denying only nothingness."

* * *

**Warehouse District**

'_An interesting thing that Bradley has done…' _a certain assassin reflected, his red eyes blinking as he considered the information he was assimilating from his victims. _'Assuredly it will inconvenience the mundane resistance in Area 11, though I doubt it will do much to curtail the efforts of rogue mages—those I must hunt myself.'_

Within the warehouse that had become Rolo Haliburton's base of operations, the Dead Apostle stirred from slumber as he sensed the imminent setting of the sun through the eyes of his familiars. It was certainly inconvenient that he could not go out during the day, since exposure to sunlight increased the rate of his body's degradation, but that the price he paid for a body that was faster, stronger, more durable than any mortal's. Oh, to be sure, his body would still slowly degrade even if he only went out at night, but his regenerative abilities more than made up for it—as long as he regularly ingested the blood of living creatures.

'_On that note…my familiars are being systematically killed off, slowly diminishing the amount of blood I receive…which is a truly annoying thing,'_ the vampire thought to himself, finding that many of the connections with his minions had been cut. _'Given the current rate of decimation, the rest of my ghouls will be wiped out in a week, even if I continue to make new ones, since my enemy will likely not stop going out at night just because of the curfew. I certainly will not.'_

For the young killer was not worried about danger to his person from the Britannian patrols at night, even in the wake of the declaration of martial law. There was little enough that could hurt a Dead Apostle, given his healing abilities and superhuman reflexes, and thus the military police posed no threat to him—rather, the rabble of foot soldiers provided him with equipment and a supply of quality blood – not to mention useful, fit corpses for raising as familiars.

'_If anything, any soldiers who interfere with my business merely provide me with more sustenance, with the deaths I cause being attributed to Zero…' _the vampire thought, a cold smirk on his face. _'Of the Vampire of Britannia's scheme…I approve.'_

True, by killing off footsoldiers, he was depriving the Britannian Army of manpower, but that was irrelevant. For a being like him, there was no such thing as teamwork—only the mission mattered—a concept that had been drilled into him ever since he had become a member of the Geass Directorate.

But back to the more pressing issue…

'_The rapid elimination of my familiars suggests the presence of an experienced demon hunter—either from the Demon Hunter Organization or the Euro Universe's Burial Agency,' _the little boy mused, attuning himself to his familiars to see through their eyes, frowning as he could make out nothing but a blur—as more were cut down with contemptuous ease. _'So, my foe is armed with a conceptual weapon then? How interesting…I may be challenged after all. It is always a pleasure to kill a strong foe, to turn a hunter into the hunted…'_

And so, with a dark, chilling laugh that bespoke great suffering to come, the Dead Apostle vanished into the night, heading with breakneck speed towards his largest grouping of the Dead, where at last, he would reveal himself to the hunter, where at last…he would have his revenge.

* * *

**A/N: **To my readers, my apologies for the long delay with updating. With the holiday season and the accompanying storms (one word: mudslides), things have been rather hectic around here, but I'm pleased to say I am back, and will be returning to my regular schedule of updating 2-3 times a week, if at all possible. Hope the new year is going well for you all, and that you will enjoy this new installment of Eternal Geass Moon (and yes, in the next chapter Mana fights Rolo, while the Knight of Ten fights Zero and company...which should be interesting). As always, reviews are most welcome...


	11. Actors' Anteroom

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

By the time Lelouch returned from his rather draining excursion into the Settlement, taking care to walk Shirley back to her dorm room before returning to his own residence (just as a gentleman was supposed to, since he didn't want to give Milly anything _else_ to rib him about), the sun had already set, with heavy moisture laden clouds filling the sky, and the Ashford Academy bathed in the eerie remnants of shadowed twilight. Yet for some reason, as the exile made his way through the through the deserted grounds of Ashford Academy, moving slowly in the chill night air, his thoughts were…elsewhere.

'_That girl surrounded by cats…who was she?' _the Black Prince mused silently, unable to shake the feeling that she was familiar to him on some level, yet frustrated as he was unable to place the where or why of it. '_But if she is known to me, where have I seen her…and when? Looking through my memories, I've never met that girl in my life…'_

But the outcast prince merely shook his head, clearing the irrelevant from his mind to focus on what was truly important at the moment: the elimination of the false Zero, for the sake of his own ambitions.

'_Unless I kill him, I will not be able to actualize my plan to destroy Britannia,'_ the magus thought to himself, lips pressed together in a thin line as he thought of how little public support he would be able to get, now that the Knight of Ten and this false Zero had intervened, as if everything was but a play, an act on this hologram summer. _'In this competition of illusions and images, whoever creates the most accepted illusion is the winner…'_

A world of lies, where the greatest lie became the truth. But then, wasn't that the history of humanity, where people lied in order to survive? Lies were essential to progress, to every human life…for what were dreams, hopes, aspirations but _lies_, delusions about what one would accomplish in the future based on nothing tangible?

'_Of course, my doppelganger likely knows this, adopting this appearance and targeting civilians in order to force me to confront him, as probability dictates that he is likely a magus killer specializing in illusions. Could he really be a Britannian working together with the Knight of Ten? The Empire is certainly ruthless enough to employ such a tactic, and Bradley does not care if his allies are sacrificed…'_

And if the killer, on top of being a magus, was a powerful Dead Apostle as Milly suspected, given that the victims had had their blood drained, then…

'…_In that case, confronting my adversary may well prove fatal, even with the help of Kallen…or perhaps even Mana,' _the outcast prince thought to himself. _'Still…I am prepared for what outcome awaits, for until the moment I learned of magic, I was dead—an impotent corpse existing doomed to wander in an empty dream. And now that I have awakened, if I am unwilling to fight, then…'_

…it would be as if he was giving up, resigning himself to death—and that was anathema to his nature as one who always played to win, consequences be damned. Whatever else one could say about Lelouch vi Britannia, he would never simply accept defeat—especially when an opponent was someone who wished to play him for a fool. Once, long ago, his father had done that to him, exiling him from the Empire and sending him to Japan as a political hostage—right before the Britannian Army invaded, essentially condemning the young prince to death.

But out of sheer venomous hate and a desire for vengeance, Lelouch had survived, clawing through countless fields filled with dead and dying people, staggering through bloodsoaked battlefields, stealing, hurting, doing what he had to go on living. And why did he want to live? Because of a need to destroy the world that had wronged him, to utterly _obliterate_ Britannia and create something new in its place.

And now that someone else wished to slander his alter ego's name, there was only one thing to do. Would he allow someone to destroy his name, effectively killing his chances of victory? No. Kill before one was killed, destroy before one was destroyed—in the end, he would do what he must to live.

'_I…will kill the false Zero,'_ the exile thought, eyes sharp with suppressed rage as a dark laugh issued from somewhere deep inside his core, a maniacal sound that reverberated through the empty courtyard of Ashford Academy. _'No matter the cost…he must be destroyed!'_

_Rumble—crash!_

As if the heavens themselves wished to express their agreement, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the ground below, casting jagged shadows across the campus as distant thunder rolled ominously in the sky above, making the slender figure of Lelouch Lamperouge appear a black-stained silhouette in the twilight.

'_That's right…from the beginning, there was already blood on my hands, ever since I resolved to do evil to destroy a greater evil,' _the magus mused, though the chessmaster's train of thought trailed off as he swallowed, discovering that his body was unconsciously shivering, his left hand clenching and unclenching reflexively. Whether in anger, in fear, or in sorrow, he did not know—only that no matter which it was, he was not afraid, for it was the violent passions that burned within his soul (with enough power to reduce a knightmare to its component atoms) that drove him to become stronger, to surpass his limits. _'And is a battle which I cannot run away from…for _I _am Zero…the man who will one day hold the fate of the world in the palm of my hand…'_

Granted, his first and foremost means of accomplishing this was through the strategy and Xanatos speed chess at which he so excelled, organizing others to do his will…but (there was always a 'but') there were times that even he had to take to the field.

"For if the king doesn't lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow?" the raven-haired prince muttered under his breath, thinking of how he had first attained his power, being saved from death by a strange Witch and her mysterious assassin.

Of course, this was utterly disregarded how in an actual chess game, moving the king for no other reason than to do so usually resulted in a loss, unless one just baffled and unnerved the opponent badly, but then Lelouch didn't play chess. He played people, manipulating them, unnerving them, watching them dance like puppets to his tune. A chess game was a match of wits and nerves as much as anything else, after all, and so, if he could disrupt his opponent's thought processes through useful intimidation tactics, he would effectively control the game itself, not just the pieces of his color.

'_The Witch provided a practical enough example of that, though I still don't know much about her at all, besides that she is a powerful magus. Or about Mana, really, except that…' _The exile hesitated for a moment, wondering how to state his thoughts. _'She's…incredibly good at killing…'_

Come to think of it, there was much he did not know about this world of magecraft and those within it—even those he had known in one capacity or another for a long time, like Milly, but slowly but surely, he would learn, and with his power and his ostensible allies, destroy those who stood in his way.

'_But first…before things can go any further, the one who dares to claim my identity must be crushed.'_

_Rumble—crash!_

A flash of lightning lit up the sky once more, followed by the crash of thunder, and reflexively, Lelouch's hands clutched his jacket tighter about his slim shoulders, lips twisting into a grimace as—

_Pitter-patter pitter-patter! _

—the heavens opened and torrents of water hurtled down from above, forcing the exile to break into a rather ungainly run towards his residence, wishing (not for the first time) that he had attended more PE classes (though this desire only overcame him during combat training sessions with Milly _or _in situations such as this, where some physical ability would actually be useful).

Thus, when Lelouch finally returned to his apartment after a thought provoking day, he resembled nothing so much as a drenched, bedraggled cat, clothes soaking wet, hair matted to his head as he staggered through the door, sighing with relief as the heated air of his apartment washed over him. Truly, there was nothing more wonderful than—

"My my, look at what the cat dragged in," a _very_ familiar voice purred from the direction of his dining table. "Did you enjoy your date with Shirley that much? Or are you so very wet because you're happy to see me, _Lulu_?"

'_Please tell me it's not who I think it is,' _Lelouch groaned in his mind, not even bothering to look up as his prodigious intellect sorted through a number of other increasingly unlikely possibilities. _'Of course, given the short list of people who tend to visit me these days, and their speech patterns—the magus of Ashford is the only one with such a dirty mind. Ergo…'_

These factors narrowed it down to one suspect—

"Milly, what a…pleasant surprise," the exile acknowledged dryly, though his voice had more than a bit of irritation to it. While he usually took the effort to put out a friendlier front, that was more or less to those who didn't know of his true identity—and those who wished to keep ignorant of the darkness simmering inside him. Of course, since Milly was not in either of those "privileged" groups, knowing him a little too well—a little honesty was in order. "Are you ready for tonight's opera—"

He voice trailed off, seemingly caught in his throat for a moment as he looked up to see the rather curvaceous blonde as he had never seen her before, with the Ashford heir dressed in an elaborate taffeta ballgown consisting of a white bodice edged in gold draped over a flared blue underskirt—an ensemble that made her look rather regal.

'_If I'm not mistaken, she is also wearing hair extensions, as her normally shoulder-length hair now flows untrammeled over shapely bare shoulders down to the small of her back—and her…'_

"Naturally, I've been ready for some time now," the Ashford magus replied wryly, giving the exiled prince a mock curtsey and a side-long glance with red-tinted eyes that were quite different from her usually steely blue gaze. "Besides, isn't it the woman who's supposed to keep the man waiting, not the other way around?"

"Touché…though we all know whose fault it was that I was out today," Lelouch shot back, the deferential gesture of his hand not at all matching the rest of his posture. "I didn't expect you to clean up so nicely—ow!"

_Thwack!_

Proving that Milly was nothing if not consistent in her response to stupidity, the prince was met with a soft knife-hand chop to the head that sent him reeling.

"You'd think you would have gotten use to a bump on the head or two after our long sessions," Milly commented, shooting a mock glare at her fellow magus as she straightened. "And yes, the fault is obviously yours, since we all know what the target looks like—and who was out having fun today?"

The exile didn't bother to correct her, given that she had a point—and frankly, that he was at fault for his tardiness was a minor concession to make, given that the Ashford magus had agreed to lend her considerable talents to his plan.

"You didn't want to come yourself, as I recall…something about drawing too much attention to yourself?" the outcast prince huffed, brushing past the blonde as he stepped into his room and closed the door, where began to strip off his outer layers, wipe himself off, and change into something less soaked. "Which is why you wanted to play matchmaker again…"

That last bit was muttered under his breath so that Milly would be unable to hear.

"I assume that you at least located an area near the Britannian Victory Memorial Center for the operation?" the blonde asked, pacing down the hallway and leaning against the door to the exile's room. "Somewhere where we can deploy the barrier stones and make most effective use of the…decoy?"

"Indeed… based on what I have learned of patrol schedules, as well as the killer's usual preferences for killing locations, the park that lies between the Center and Omotesandō Mall would be ideal," Lelouch's muffled voice replied as a series of _thumps_, scrapes, and bangs from inside the room marked the boy's progress in changing into something more inconspicuous than his civilian garb. "Out of the way, mostly deserted at night, not usually patrolled…and a place where one could easily stumble into while 'drunk.'"

_Click!_

With that, the door opened, revealing a now drier Lamperouge magus dressed in the charcoal-grey outerwear and trousers of a Britannian foot soldier (sans armor), holding a silver briefcase and a white envelope in his hand.

"Good…I see that you're prepared," Milly noted, giving the exile a once over. And if her eyes lingered just a bit longer than they should have—well, no one would comment. "Your equipment is in the case, I take it? Firearms and staff?"

"Indeed," Lelouch replied, returning the look and raising a puzzled eyebrow as he saw no obvious places where Milly could hide her weapons. "And yours?"

In response, Milly hiked up her skirt, revealing (in addition to toned, shapely legs) the presence of two thigh holsters, one of which held her collapsible staff, while the other held a ritual dagger and – a pouch of some sort?

"As always, I am prepared, with my standard equipment and a set of gems, each containing at least a year's worth of magical energy," the blonde commented, retrieving a strange object from one of her sleeves—something that seemed like a child's toy wand, almost garishly red with a gold star and wings attached at one end—and handing it to the exile. "Here's something else for you, by the way—"

"Eh? What's this?" Lelouch asked, taking the wand and blinking as he tried to make heads or tails of the object, as he doubted that a genuine magical artifact would be so…garish. "And how am I supposed to use this, exactly? Perhaps by—"

"Don't," Milly said in warning, eyeing the device strangely. "To use it, you would charge it with mana by opening your circuits, but don't, unless it is absolutely necessary. To paraphrase C.C., this is a deadly weapon of last resort, an artifact of great power that…"

"…_this_?" Lelouch replied with a deadpan look, understandably skeptical.

"I know it doesn't look like it," the Ashford magus answered with a sigh. "Then again, considering that she gave it to me to pass along to you…"

She trailed off meaningfully, as if this should be obvious.

"…well, she does have a strange sense of humor," Lelouch allowed with a slow nod, remembering all too well the quirks of the Witch. "And while she doesn't like revealing much about herself, what she has said has been accurate so far."

Shaking his head, the exile put away the magical artifact, deciding to ask the Witch exactly what it did when he next saw her—which should just be in a few minutes. And with that…

"So Lulu, what's in the envelope?" the Ashford magus inquired, in a teasing voice. "Such pretty handwriting on the front—and it's from Mana. Perhaps it's a love letter?"

Refusing to rise to the barb, Lelouch merely opened it, extracting the paper within to find a single line written…

"_Be careful tonight, Lamperouge. A terrible premonition can bring forth a terrible reality."_

* * *

**C.C.'s Atelier, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

Deep within the bowels of the earth, in the artificial cavern ringed by waterfalls and runes currently being used as the atelier of the First Magician, two figures were whirling and leaping about, lashing out with fierce blows as they attempted to connect with the other—or at least Kallen was doing so, her forehead slick with sweat from her exertions as she tried to find a way to approach and strike the Grey Witch.

_Whirr! Swish! _

A task that was proving more difficult than it seemed, as C.C. was standing on the other side of the cavern, sending hawk puppets made of silver wire streaking towards Kallen again and again with subtle gestures of her hands, smirking all the while.

"Mana seems to think well of you, but your movements are too rough, girl," the immortal commented dryly, even as she sent numerous wireframe birds towards the redhead from all angles, instant puppets crisscrossing the distance between her and the fiery part-time terrorist as—

_Whoosh! Whoosh!_

—blazing fists sped through the air to deflect the incoming projectiles as Kallen sprinted forward, dodging, striking, parrying in a play of light and heat.

It was C.C.'s belief, much like Mana's, that the best teacher of combat was experience, and so the Grey Witch, not really having anything better to do, had decided to help Kallen with hers—for a given value of help anyway.

_Fsh! _

—the redhead sidestepped hastily as something came at her from behind, with three streaks of light savaging her from all sides, forcing to break off her attack.

_Whirr! _

Another massive salvo of wireform missiles, some approaching straight on, some curving, some from above, some from the sides, some from behind—

_Whump! Flash!_

—avoided by diving in to a roll and recovering forward, arching back to her full height despite the protest in her knees and spun spinning about to deliver a backhand blow and a vicious palm thrust to the incoming projectiles, knocking them away with the intensity of her materialized anger, clearing a path ahead of her as she burst forward towards the Witch, trying to break through the—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Boom!_

—merciless swarms of incoming projectiles to reach the caster, parrying, whirling, burning the attacks from the air with her fists as she advanced, crashes and flashes of light and heat punctuating her approach.

"How…" _Whomp!_ "…the hell…" _Whomp_! "…is this…" _Whomp! _"…just…" _Whomp! "…training?" _the redhead forced out, breathing hard as she continually—

_Boom! Oomph!_

—one of the wireframe puppets detonated in mid-air, the shockwave sending Kallen sprawling to the floor, where—

_Slide! Blam!_

—a veil of smoke covered the ground, as tracers of silver light streaked down at her position and detonated, buffeting Kallen's prone form.

For her part, the redhead barely managed to turn face up and flare her flame magic in time to guarding herself from a second rain of deadly silver tracers headed for the unprotected back of her head, white hot flames erupting from her hands vaporizing the projectiles through pure strength of will as she staggered to her feet, eyes blazing.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me?" snarled the part-time terrorist, a haze of fury beginning to awaken inside of her in the wake of this latest round of indignities that C.C. had dubbed "training."

In response, the Witch only chuckled.

"Trying? No," the green-haired Sorceress replied easily, lips curling into a small smirk as she regarded the panting redhead with impassive amber eyes. "If I was trying, Kallen Kozuki, you'd already be dead, given your very limited abilities. So, tell me, do you intend to continue this exercise in futility?"

"Limited?" Kallen repeated incredulously, feeling a surge of molten fury erupting inside her core at the Grey Witch's words. "_Limited?_ You…have no idea what this badass mother can do!"

For a moment, an ever-so-brief moment, the half-Britannian was perfectly still—and then she exploded into a blur of motion as magical energy flooded through her body, acting in tandem with the adrenalin pouring through every nerve, every blood vessel in her body as anger took over, as she charged towards C.C. with the speed of a meteor, her feet almost seeming to glide over the metal floor as—

_Whoosh!_

"Huh?"

—her flame wrapped fists pummeled a whole lot of nothing, hitting only air as—

_Whirr! Crash!_

—a volley ofthe wireframe birds slammed into her from behind, knocking the redhead slightly off balance, harrying her from all sides, even as the immortal's smooth drawl continued.

"No idea? Is that so?" C.C. intoned, traces of amusement and contempt mingling in her rich, velvety voice. "On the contrary, my dear terrorist, I think that I've come to assess your abilities quite well…and they are rather…limited. So a moe character you are, really…"

Kallen barely had time to groan as she parsed the multiple meanings of "moe", before her speed redoubled, her trail marked by a carbon scoring on the metal ground as she charged, intending to immolate the Grey Witch (or at least wipe the damned smirk off her face), the aura of white-hot flames wreathing her form searing away any puppet that made contact, as she attacked with a flurry of blows, closing the 10 meter gap between them with only two paces.

"Grit those teeth, witch, because this blow from the strongest is going to hurt," the redhead snarled growled as she struck, launching one-two-three blows towards the Witch—a punch for the forehead, an elbow for the gut, a backhand to the chin, but all were avoided by subtle motions, as—

_Thwack!_

—the sound of flesh on flesh resounded, as a fourth attack made contact, a point blank jumpkick of molten fire from redhead lashing up and then down at the Witch's, a brutal blow of smashing force that required even C.C. to actually block the attack and counter with a reinforced palm thrust—and elbow—

_Guh!_

—to the gut, sending Kallen stumbling to the ground once more, feet making contact with the floor just in time to—

_Swish!_

—be swept out from under her, knocking the trainee squarely and painfully on her ass, a position from which she looked incredulously up at the mostly unharmed figure of the Sorceress in White, with the immortal flexing her hands, her expression more neutral as she made the universal gesture for "come at me."

'_What the…she didn't burn?! Even though I focused my killing intent to such an extent?'_

"Not bad for an amateur…," C.C. commented, with eyes intent on the fallen magus now that Kallen had finally managed to injure her during practice, however slightly. "You managed to burn my hands in spite of the resistance afforded by my activated magic circuits, something you have been unable to do since our first encounter."

Seeing that the First Magician was (for once) not making any move to take advantage of her current state, the part-time terrorist slowly rose to her feet, settling into a defensive stance as she regarded the immortal warily, her aura of flames subsiding slightly as she marshaled the urge to rush in once more.

"Meh…doesn't seem like much of an achievement," Kallen panted, gritting her teeth, though she knew well that in her winded and slightly drained state, slightly injuring the Witch was an accomplishment in itself, what with the magical missile massacre the sorceress had launched. "Especially not after burning a group of ghouls…"

Not as satisfying either, given that the smirk hadn't been fully wiped from C.C.'s face, although the magician had been forced to defend—which was new.

"Hmm…I will admit you have potential as a fighter, but you still have a long way to go as an magus, Kozuki," C.C. spoke after a moment, lowering her guard on seeing that the half-Britannian had not chosen to attack again. "I won't tell you to shed your anger, since your burning passion is what fuels your magecraft, but _use_ it. Call upon it, draw from it, let it empower you—but don't let it control you. Not every opponent is as vulnerable as an undead ghoul, after all."

With that, the Grey Witch turned upon her heel to leave, moving past Kozuki towards the entryway.

"…at least ghouls don't try to irritate me on purpose…" Kallen muttered under her breath, but apparently not soft enough to get past an immortal's ears, as the redhead learned to her dismay when C.C. turned to look at the part-time terrorist with those disturbing amber eyes of hers.

"If you do not care for my training methods, I'm sure Mana would be all too happy to accommodate you," the Sorceress in White said in response. "One always learns in difficult situations, and well…she could use the bait…"

_Gulp!_

Kallen involuntarily swallowed at the memory of her "training session" with Mana, which had been quite literally a life or death affair, forcing her to awaken her power to its fullest extent. Given a choice between that and a Witch that seemingly enjoyed annoying her…the Witch was probably the lesser of the two evils—

'_Heh…'_

—even if the green-haired Witch was infuriating, underhanded, and downright manipulative at times—possibly even more so than Lelouch, though the fullness of this remained to be seen.

"On second thought, that won't be necessary," Kallen said after a moment, managing to shoot a defiant glare at the Witch while suppressing any hint of fear or horror. "One of these days, I _will_ wipe that smirk off your face."

"Is that so?" C.C. murmured, not quite believing it. "We shall see, K.K, we shall see. Now come along, L.L. and a mutual friend should be waiting in the conference room with details about your mission tonight."

With that, the Witch walked out of the cavern, with a frazzled redhead following but a moment later.

* * *

**Conference Room,** **Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

Despite her rather rash and impulsive nature, Kallen Kozuki liked to think of herself as a fairly intelligent young woman. And in most aspects, she'd be correct, as she _was _an honors student with the top scores in her class (despite being in class the least of any student), as well as a consummate actress in her daily life, picking up social cues and combat techniques with relative ease. All in all, it was easy to see why she would be seen as the Lamperouge scion's Q-1…although, like him, she tended to overlook certain rather obvious possibilities.

…which led immediately to a situation such as the one now, with the redhead's jaw hanging open as she froze in the doorway to the conference room, eyes fixed on the blonde individual standing next to Lelouch, leaning over what seemed to be a tactical map of the Tokyo Settlement.

'_Is that…'_

When C.C. had said mutual friend, Kallen had immediately thought of the raven-haired Satsujinki, the avatar of death, but—

"Now now, Kallen," the Ashford magus chided, looking over the half-Britannian's slick, sweat covered form, and nodding appreciatively at how her clothes were sticking to her skin. "I'm flattered of course, but if you don't stop staring at me like that, I'm going to start to wonder whether you like girls. That said, I think that Shirley has a challenger for the Student Council's perfect ten."

On cue, the redhead forced her mouth shut with an audible _click_, blinking a few times to make sure she was not hallucinating.

"M-m-madam Prez?!" the part time terrorist managed disbelievingly, eyes narrowing as she stepped back reflexively. "You're a—"

"—magus, yes, just like you," the blonde confirmed with a slight nod, corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly into a smile. "To be specific, the magus of Ashford...or did you really think an elaborate underground complex for hiding and supporting magi would exist at Ashford Academy without my family's knowledge?"

"Enough. You've made your point, Milly," Lelouch broke in wryly. "Besides, you play enough mind games with the Student Council during normal hours as it is…and we do have a mission to attend to."

The blonde merely raised an eyebrow at the mention of mindgames from Lelouch of all people, but deferred just this once.

"You have a point, Lulu," the Ashford heir conceded, eyes snapping up and over towards the immortal standing behind Kallen. "I take it Mana will not be joining us tonight?"

Slightly disappointing, given that the Satsujinki (with her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception and related skills) was probably the highest level combatant of the student group, with each of the trio having witnessed her terrifying skills firsthand.

"Indeed. She left before dark, with the purpose of hunting the Dead Apostle in Area 11," C.C. replied matter-of-factly, as the Sorceress entered the room, leaning herself against the wall. "To her view, the false Zero and the Apostle are two different entities, given that one generally sees either the Dead or their master, not both operating at once. Given that, and the fact that several powerful magi are in this room, you should be more than enough to eliminate this threat. Especially given your family's distant relation to the Barthomeloi lineage…"

Milly frowned, wondering how the Witch had known that little detail, but didn't bother to ask, knowing that she wouldn't receive an answer.

'_Yet another mystery to deal with…'_

"True, unless there are _two _Dead Apostles in the city," the blonde allowed, frowning in distaste. "Though that would be a rather unusual turn of events, unless they were commanded by a higher power—on that note, do you have anything to share, C.C.?"

"Not at the moment," the immortal replied, not seeing the need to disclose more than she needed to. Revealing details such as the fact that her adversary was an immortal who wielded one of the True Magics would only lead to unneeded fear and panic at this point. "Simply take Mana's absence as a vote of confidence, that she believes herself unnecessary at this meeting."

While Lelouch would normally have agreed, the words of the Satsujinki's note to him hinted that the danger might be more than the Witch had let on. Or perhaps it was a clue to prevent him from running into danger? Who knew?

"Very well then, C.C.," Lelouch allowed, realizing that there was no point in arguing with a fait accompli. "In that case, let us begin."

There was soft chuckle from the sidelines, as C.C. looked on with amusement, gesturing for Lelouch to get on with it, giving the redhead the sneaking suspicion that she was not going to enjoy her role in the operation—again. She did hope she would get to burn something though…

"Alright, what's your plan, Lelouch?" Kallen asked as she walked over to the tactical map, her attention immediately drawn to a point marked as the Britannian Victory Memorial Center. "Are we laying an ambush? Or—"

"Based on the current and the attendant variables," the exile stated, "I have calculated Old Tokyo Tower as the place as the false Zero's most likely point of appearance, most likely in conjunction with the gala event being held at the Center tonight, open to the nobility. Which is where you and Milly come in…"

From her position against the wall, C.C. pressed a button, causing a light to shine down on a mannequin that had until now rested in the shadows, clad in a ballgown of vivid red and white with golden tracings, a formal affair of ruffles, fingerless elbow gloves, and leggings to accentuate her legs.

Turning at the sudden change in illumination, Kallen caught sight of the dress and stopped cold, slowly shaking her head.

"As you suspect, the two of us will be infiltrating the gala," Milly broke in, causing the part-time terrorist to finally take better notice of the ornate ensemble the blonde was wearing. "Lelouch, on the other hand, will be blending in with the soldiers patrolling the area outside, placing runestones at certain key locations to set up a bounded field."

"…you want me to attend a ball, wearing something as…indecent as that?" Kallen asked skeptically, glancing at Milly again. "Are you sure that _you _aren't just looking for an excuse to get me into…that outfit?"

Given that the dress _did _seem calculated to emphasize the bust and the legs, one might be justified in assuming that it was one of the blonde's signature creations. However—

"—in this case, you are mistaken, Kallen Kozuki," C.C. commented, her expression looking irritatingly like that of a fox after a successful raid on a chicken coop. "That dress, as well as the one worn by the Ashford magus, is one of my creations—a powerful mystic code resistant to all forms of thaumaturgy. In other words, less risk of…burning your clothes off should you use the flame body technique, among other things."

"…so why does it look like a derivative of something like what a magical girl would wear?" Kallen sputtered, vocalizing her main objection to the attire. "And it reveals so much…"

"I don't see why you're objecting," C.C. shrugged, eying Kallen's current outfit—the skintight tubelike garment that she wore for resistance activities. "It's substantially less revealing than your current battle uniform. However, if you would prefer to wear a bunny suit and infiltrate as a server, I have one of those available as well. The choice is yours."

Given those two alternatives, the redhead's choice was clear, no matter how much she disliked the concept of wearing frilly dresses. As for the point about being less revealing than her current battle uniform, that was…different. Wasn't it?

_Ahem!_

A not so quiet cough from Lelouch Lamperouge drew the attention of those in the room back to him.

"No bunny suit," the exile said firmly, fighting the urge to cradle his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Even if the gala is a masquerade ball, we want subtlety…and a guest would arouse less suspicion when moving around than a servant."

"Subtlety?" C.C. inquired sardonically, blinking once. "And this from the man who literally jumped at the opportunity to act the part of a large ham? Heh, maybe it runs in the family…"

Lelouch started to voice an objection (most specifically to the last comment), but quickly thought better of it, settling for a dissatisfied grunt.

"Whatever else I am, I am not a fool," the outcast prince asserted. "And considering that that fake Zero is out there ruining my reputation, and given the marital law situation…some subtlety would be advisable."

The Grey Witch thankfully had the tact to stay quiet and watch.

"If that is all, then you'd best get ready, since the gala is in a couple of hours, Kallen," Milly finished, eyeing the redhead once more. "I do so look forward to working _closely_ with you."

Not for the first time, Kallen wondered to herself just what the hell she had gotten herself into.

* * *

**Saitama Ghetto**

While the others were discussing the mission plan for the night's operation, the shadow-cloaked form of Mana Ryougi was slinking through torrential rain with knife in hand, continuing to deal with the infestation of undead ghouls in the ghettos, in an attempt to lure the Dead Apostle in the area out of hiding. And like everyone else this fateful evening, the Satsujinki was not wearing her usual attire, instead clad in the dark vestments associated with the Euro Universe's Burial Agency – a secret organization made up of merciless assassins willing to do whatever it took to eliminate demonic abominations from existence.

'_Abominations such as vampires…'_

While it wasn't her usual outfit, she supposed it would do, as it provided notably better mobility than her usual blouse and skirt combination. Which was a plus, considering that the reason that C.C. had chosen this particular outfit was not for practicality in combat (since the immortal knew that the Satsujinki would perform well, regardless of outfit), but for misdirection. Considering that what Mana was doing (eliminating the Dead and hunting a possible Dead Apostle), fit in perfectly with the mission profile of a Burier (and that Executors of the Burial Agency often came into conflict with Magus Killers), it would be easy enough to convince any onlookers that she _was_ a Burier.

If this information got back to Britannia, V.V. would not be happy to learn of what would undoubtedly be perceived as the unwanted interference of the Euro Universe in Britannian affairs, quite possibly leading to a third front being opened in the global conflict, diverting resources and attention from Area 11 and the Middle Eastern Federation.

'_And if a little misdirection hurts Britannia, so much the better…'_

Mana's lips drew back into a chill smile as she stilled, gripping her knife tightly as something nagged at the edge of her perception, the _shuffle-splashing_ of footsteps through water and the "Hyuu! Hyuu!" of parched throats betraying the presence of a horde of ghouls lying in wait.

'…_not rushing at me headlong? Interesting…the Dead Apostle must be in the area. In that case…let's draw him out.'_

In utter silence, the young woman blinked, her eyes suddenly glowing with an eerie blue light as the lines of death became accessible to her once more, allowing her to track the positions of her enemies even in this gloom, as they were naught but masses of black lines and scribbles packed like clotting blood.

_Clip-clip-clip!_

Her boot-clad feet stalked through the night with miniscule sounds that barely qualified as footsteps, deliberate to a fault, with each twitch, minor as it was, seemingly premeditated and planned in advance, with the end result an inexorable advance that was relentless, intense, and promised oblivion to anything in her way—a beautiful grim reaper, with ominous blue eyes and black hair flowing like water.

_Squelch! Fsh! Slash!_

And then Mana exploded into motion, her lithe figure surging through the rain as the sounds of combat filled the air, with the Ryougi drawing a second knife as she lunged forward, killing the distance between herself and her opponents.

_Slice!_

A thump, as a limb was severed, then two more as a body was bisected. The dark-haired woman dashed low, under the swing of a ghoul's arm, then sprung up, cutting another in two as the Satsujinki flew through the space the creature had occupied, the mangled blood and viscera crumbling to mere ash in the wake of her passing, the black and grey flutters of her garments almost disturbingly hypnotic.

"Hy—"

She turned briefly, her knives tracing the lines of death, as an innumerable swarm of ghouls came at her from all sides, waves upon waves of corpses that she knew were more than she had encountered in any ghetto until now. Still, the Dead Apostle was somewhere nearby, and unless she eliminated—

_Crack! Crack!_

—a heavy bullet tore through the space that her head had occupied a moment ago, with a second hissing past her torso.

'_The Dead Apostle…!'_

Whirling to meet this new threat, the Satsujinki caught sight of a black blur, as a slim figure bounded out into view and then vanished with inhuman speed, leaving tracers of light and fire in its wake, deadly bullets streaking toward—

_Slice!_

—but these projectiles were avoided, as Mana killed the distance required to get her out of the way, leaving a shadowy figure scowling in the distance, twin pistols in hand. This was the Dead Apostle Rolo Haliburton, who at first glance seemed an innocent, carefree boy—before he put a bullet through one's brain.

'_Inhuman reflexes and no magical energy sensed,' _thought diminutive Dead Apostle Rolo Haliburton, slightly irked that his first assault had failed. _'Not a magus then—judging by garments and lethal efficiency against my ghouls, my enemy is a Burier armed with a conceptual weapon.'_

The vampire continued to observe as the Satsujinki brutally yet elegantly tore through his undead familiars as if through soaked tissue, her knives tracing silver arcs of motion as they plunged into flesh, were ripped from flesh, or simply sliced the air itself in a whirling dervish of dismemberment and destruction, actualizing inescapable inevitability with inhuman calm.

'_In that case, I may as well go all out. Even if you are skilled, in the end, you are…only human. _**Innate Time Control – Triple Accelerando**!'

Accelerating the temporal field around his body so that the world around him flowed by like molasses, Rolo sprang, time altering magecraft enhancing already inhumanly strong reflexes and speed as his body streaked towards the otherwise occupied Burier. With this, he thought, he should be able to close in with a step and shoot his enemy in the chest before she even noticed.

_Crack! Whirr!_

A last second evasion took Mana out of the path of the bullet as she spun low, ominous blue eyes fixing on her opponent.

_Slice!_

One slash and one step and the distance between the two was eliminated, with Mana bringing both knives around to—

_Clink! BLAM! _

Two sounds rang out at once: the sound of a knife blade kissing the steel barrel of one of Rolo's pistols, and the muffled thunder of a gunshot, as an Origin bullet slammed into Mana's right shoulder at point-blank range, imposing the concepts "severing" and "binding" onto her arm, with her assailant disappearing from her sight once more.

_Thunk! Clatter!_

A heartbeat later, one of Rolo's weapons fell apart in his hand, and a knife clattered from a now limp hand, with Mana looking incredulously down to find that her arm would not move, having been reduced to dead weight.

For "severing and binding" were not exactly the same as "destroying and reviving", because the former lacked any form of regeneration. To use a metaphor, it would be like cutting a string then reconnecting it by tying a knot…causing unavoidable deterioration and corruption. And against a living being, it would cause unavoidable and immediate necrosis, "killing" all the nerves and blood vessels of the affected part.

Still, she had one more—

_Slash! _

Catching a glimpse of a flicker of motion, Mana gritted her teeth and lunged for the opponent's point of death, a near-instant—

_Squelch!_

Another blur, as the vampire razor-sharp claw pierced her wrist and twisted, wrenching the other knife from the Satsujinki's grasp—though not before she severed the vampire's other weapon arm at the elbow.

_Clatter! Thud!_

The moment she dropped her knife, a claw was slammed through her gut, with a devastating kick knocking the Satsujinki to the ground facedown, where her prone form was left unmolested for a few heartbeats, the fresh red of arterial blood mingling with rainwater as torrential precipitation came down.

But not for long, as there was a shuffle of feet, a cry of "hyu hyu", and then the vampire slammed his knees into the hollow of her back as every nerve howled in agony, pulling aside her flowing hair and—

_Agony._

A burning pain in her neck, as fangs dug into her skin.

Fading.

Consciousness fading.

Being drained.

It was as if all life in Mana's body were being liquefied and sucked out. And as without strength, there were no thoughts, perhaps the consciousness was not fading at all, merely being destroyed.

With blood gurgling out of her open wounds and being sucked from her neck, the Satsujinki was so exhausted that she could not lift an arm, couldn't control her body.

And then…

"Ah—guh!"

An involuntary half-moan half-scream as something black and corrosive was being poured into her body, violating her insides, searing, burning.

"Ha…guh!"

A pain, a pain, a pain, as if her spine was about to be ripped out.

In pain, Mana clawed at the ground with her mangled but still usable hand, but there was no relief, as like liquid corrosion, the foreign substance tore through her body's insides, crawling and twisting as it pleased, replacing her life blood with something darker. It was not even a mouthful, but it seared the flesh all the same, causing enough pain to drive her near to madness.

"Ha…ah, ah…"

She knew this feeling…what it was like to be invaded.

"Don't worry, Executor, I won't kill you," Rolo's cold voice rang out from some distance away. "As a killer who could wound me, you are far more useful to me alive, so instead, I will turn you into one of my servants. A different creature…a tool for my use, a mere killing machine, one I will turn on the magi of this place, Burier!"

There was no one to save her. Her knives were gone, her left arm was useless, and in a matter of moments, the corrosive blood of the Dead Apostle would warp her body once and for all.

'_No…it can't…it will not end like this…'_

But there was no reply save the endless _pitter-patter-pitter-pat_ of the rain, washing everything away...

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay (again). A couple of writing competitions had me a little sidetracked, but next chapter, a battle will erupt within the Tokyo Settlement, when three magi confront the false Zero (and yes, to those of you in the know, there _will_ be some Kaleidostick action).


	12. Midnight Raider

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Britannian Victory Memorial Center, Tokyo Settlement**

It had been with some (read: great) reluctance that Kallen had allowed herself to be persuaded to attend the masquerade ball being held at the Britannian Victory Memorial Center as part of her mission —and even more reluctance that she had agreed to wear the ruby red dress that had hung in the conference room.

Dresses to her mind, were rather indecent, particularly the style favored by Britannia (and apparently by the Witch), which placed great emphasis on the bust and legs, not to mention being a pain to run or move around in, as long skirts and a tight corset did not tend to help with matters. Of course, given that in the occasions she had seen the Witch (usually during training), C.C. had been wearing a formal gown, an elaborate kimono, or some other not particularly combat-suited garment, Kallen was in no position to complain—

'_If I did, I could probably expect a harsher training session…probably involving more explosions…or being sent out on missions with Mana again, the prospect of which is—frankly—terrifying.'_

—especially after the Witch had mentioned a few peculiars about the ruby-red dress had been customized, with such thoughtful features as concealing pockets for weaponry, fingerless elbow gloves made of the same salamander skin material as her training gloves (which enhanced her control over flame), and magic resistance, affording a measure of protection from anyone using magecraft on her.

And so, after some trouble arranging for a limo, having Milly help her into her dress, and discussing the assassination scheme one more time, Kallen Kozuki (or Baroness Stadtfeld, rather, as she was called in noble circles) had found herself adrift in a sea of skirts, perfumes, mindless drivel (and alcohol) that was akin to those at all other large gatherings of nobles.

'_I wonder sometimes how well most nobles would be able to stand each other without alcohol, that social lubricant…though some of it certainly because they're terrified of the fake "Zero."'_

Or enough space for cliques and factions to split off, where they could prattle on and fawn over one another's latest fashions, acquisitions, and exploits—carefully ignoring the situation outside their ornate manors as they tended to do.

'_Then again, this entire gala event is to help the nobility convince themselves that all the turmoil in Area 11 will pass sooner or later, that Zero and the Knight of Ten are just passing problems, that at the end of it all, they will still be the ones in power.'_

Indeed, the world of those socialites, older "gentlemen", and recent debutantes was a world of their own, built around the concept of "refutation" – which ironically was also Kallen's Origin, not that she herself was aware of that.

'_What makes Lelouch so sure this fake Zero will show up anyway? How would he get past the doormen, or the armed nobles? And if he's going to show up, why not let him kill off the nobles, and really cripple Britannia's morale before we did anything…'_

Or better yet, why not do the murderer's work for him—since much of the leadership of Area 11 was currently in the room with her. And it would be so very tempting to watch all of them burn, turning so many of those insufferable brutes into pyres of ash and flame…

'_Yes…very, very—'_

But the redhead managed to cut herself off, remembering that Area 11 was currently under martial law and that any "terrorist" attack would be countered by the army eradicating yet another ghetto. And if there was one thing Kallen didn't want, it was to have the blood of her own people on her hands—hands that would never be clean as it was.

So for now Kallen was inclined to trust Lelouch's calculations and plans (if not the man himself, given that he was just a little too…smooth…for her liking, given that his name meant "suspicious one", and that he seemed like someone who had once been nobility), she did not for a moment enjoy acting as—to put it bluntly—bait in some elaborate scheme, preferring the more proactive approach to problem solving – namely, beating the hell out of whatever was in her way.

Of course, this didn't always work, and being bait was a role she played all too well, given her usual assignments with the resistance, but even so, considering that her current task combined her mild dislike for her role with her much more ardent dislike of Britannian nobility, and everything associated with them, plus was housed in the _Britannian Victory Memorial Center, _it was more or less all she could do not to burn the site of the masquerade ball into cinders herself.

'_At least then I won't have to wear this gaudy ruby-colored mask, prancing around the dance floor as I'm being ogled by those lecherous middle-aged (and so-middle-aged) pigs who are tempted by anything young and nubile in a skirt,' _the redhead fumed, muttering something under her breath about overly revealing gowns, cosplay obsessed witches, and overly physical student council presidents who—

"What was that, my _dearest K.K._?" the white-clad Milly whispered in a sultrily dangerous tone, slipping her hand around Kallen's waist and drawing the redhead close. Uncomfortably, intimately close, spinning the girl around and playing out her role of "Kallen's escort" with consummate flair. "You don't mean to tell me that you're displeased, with me, do you? Or that you wish to punish me for being such a bad, bad girl?"

—had insisted on going to the masquerade ball held in the Britannian Victory Memorial Center with Kallen as her _date_, and had proceeded to act the part with gusto, throwing in a few too many displays of physical affection for the redhead's liking—though at least it had kept immature boys or perverse old men from hitting on her, even if the presence of the mysterious beauty in white and blue had only attracted more attention than the baroness was comfortable with.

'_You'd think she was some kind of long lost princess or something…not that anyone recognizes Milly in her elaborate getup, and with the changes to her hair and eye color…'_

Fortunately, the band chose this moment to play, providing a decent level of auditory cover for the two as they moved and whirled and flowed across the floor in an Argentine tango, letting them stay close enough to have a private conversation.

"Damnit, 'Phantasmoon', didn't L.L recommend 'subtlety'?" Kallen hissed in Milly's ear, taking care to keep her face the picture of demure grace. "So why exactly are we making a spectacle of ourselves?"

Indeed, there were more than a few murmurs in the crowd as the pair of very attractive young women danced cheek to cheek, supple bodies pressed against one another.

"Why do you think _he _makes a spectacle of himself?" the blonde whispered peevishly in turn, spinning the redhead out and reeling her back. "Because no one would ever reconcile that with his other self…in the same way, no one would think a shy, demure girl would do such a thing. People see what they want to see, after all…or do you think I'm wrong?"

Having seen the truth of those words firsthand, Kallen couldn't exactly argue with the Ashford magus.

"Heh…I just hope _he _was right about where the false one would appear," the fire magus muttered as the two danced. "Otherwise…"

"…I expect you'll take over his next training session," the Ashford heir murmured half-jokingly. "Which are just as brutal as yours are…believe me, I'm the one in charge."

"…why do I have no problem believing that?" the redhead sighed, shaking her head ever so slightly. "I have to wonder…what is it about your type? Does your power corrupt so absolutely, ex-noble?"

An eloquent shrug.

"No more than you yourself are corrupted, _Baroness,_" Milly purred, and for a few more minutes, the duo continued to dance, as attention wandered away from them, as nobles (especially drunk nobles) had notoriously short attention spans, letting the two drift closer and closer to the door to the stairwell leading to the roof. "In any case, if something goes badly wrong, Lake Kawaguchi would be a nice place to regroup and _get away from it all."_

A reasonable enough suggestion, given that that getting away from the settlement would probably be a wise idea if tonight's operation went completely FUBAR.

"Heh…alright then…in any case, no one's looking…"

"…very well…in 3, 2, 1…"

Moments later, the stairwell door opened and closed with a barely audible _click_, with the two young magi disappearing through it, heading for the observation deck, from which the outer stairwells could be reached—and a signal could be sent to their nearby comrade.

'_It's time…'_

* * *

**Shiba Park, Tokyo Settlement**

In the middle of a park a short distance from the tower, Lelouch Lamperouge had his own reasons for being somewhat unsatisfied. Granted, so far, everything was going according to plan, as Milly and Kallen had gained access to the gala (as expected, as party security tended to be lax regarding attractive young women), and were now presumably conducting reconnaissance. Conducting reconnaissance in a warm, dry, climate-controlled facility with plenty of food and alcohol available—leaving the dark-haired magus out in the rain, as his task was to prepare the battlefield, placing runestones in the area around the Center and the park.

'_But if the king does not lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow_?" the raven-haired exile grumbled to himself once more, telling himself that this current state of discomfiture was all for the sake of the plan. _'At least the rain has helped to conceal my actions so far, as well as keeping most of the others on patrol quiet.'_

_Pitter-patter! Plink! Pitter-patter! Plink!_

Slowly, step-by step, the exile masquerading as a Britannian foot soldier paced the perimeter of the park and memorial center, dropping small stones engraved with runes—little chips of concrete, really—into the puddles all around, registering the nearly imperceptible _hum _of magical energy straining to be released at the moment he opened his circuits, taking a little bit of his internal mana to jumpstart a chain reaction and open a barrier fueled by ambient mana.

'_Which, as usual, reminds me that I am but a novice when it comes to magecraft compared to Milly or C.C.—considering that I only know some of what was passed down through my Thaumaturgical Crest. If I am to lead in battle, do I have anything I can use against another person, I wonder?'_

Possession of objects and being able to issue an Absolute Order to anyone via his variant of the Unified Language were both useful—and very powerful—abilities, but the former was not practical for situations where there was nothing combat-worthy to possess, and the latter—well, his ability to issue orders would only work once per person, which was complicated by the fact that it would affect everyone who heard his voice, making it impractical for use in group battles (unless he was able to be very very specific about his orders and to whom they were issued—something the exile rightly thought would not be an option most of the time.

'_And no matter what I order, whoever is ordered will remember my having done so—thus, I suppose it was for the best I did not use my ability to question Kallen after Shinjuku, since her rash nature would likely have led to my getting stabbed, burned, or worse.'_

_Plink! Plink! Plink!_

So far the stones had been placed successfully, and now he simply awaited the—

_Whirr!_

—out of the gloom, Milly's sultry voice whispered into his ear as if she was standing next to him.

"_Lelouch…its time." _

Nodding to himself, the raven-haired prince concentrated, reaching down into himself as he visualized the conduits of magical energy running through his body—and more importantly, the floodgates keeping them sealed, letting him pass for a mundane.

'_But the time for that is past…__**Five gates revolving – locks open**_.'

Immediately, he winced, gritting his teeth as pain seared through his flesh and soul, forcing the normally cold exile to fight himself for control—an internal struggle that lasted only an objective moment, but seemed a small eternity—before reopening his eyes to an altered world, with a constellation of points winking out at him…and a myriad of pinpricks siphoning magical energy out of him, drawing, drawing, draining—

_Fsh!_

—and then it was over, as the invisible bounded field established itself, configuring itself to run off of ambient mana, just as the Witch had crafted it to do.

'_Hmm…and now, all the tasks at hand have been cleared.'_

Now he would simply have to wait for—

_WHOOSH!_

—or at least, so he thought—up to the point a wave of terror and despair echoed from the direction of the tower, as hundreds of voices cried out in terror, and were silenced, as a great whirling mass of malignant power materialized on the observation desk of Old Tokyo Tower, immediately above the Britannian Victory Memorial Center.

'_It would seem that my calculations were correct…and now to check on Milly and Kallen…'_

Swallowing once at the sheer volume of bloodlust and killing intent radiating from the building, the exile dissociated a portion of his consciousness, projecting it towards the war-damaged structure of Tokyo Tower…

* * *

**Observation Deck, Old Tokyo Tower**

High above the ground, away from the meaningless noise and activity of the party below, two young women stood on the observation deck of what had once been Tokyo Tower before the invasion, taking a moment to simply breathe after dealing with the stuffiness of the people below—and of course, to signal their comrade to set up the barrier, since they might well be needing it soon (and even if they didn't, better to waste a small amount of mana than have to worry about a squad of magus killers swooping in and really ruining one's day…or evening, as it were).

"You know, being here today reminds me of everything I dislike about Britannia," Kallen murmured as she surveyed her surroundings, keeping watch on the door to the roof—even if it was unlikely people would follow, given that the roof was rather exposed to the elements. "The noise, the ambiance, the sleazy nature of it all—"

"Yes, I'm sure this is part of why you act the part of the invalid," Milly snorted, otherwise still as senses other than the five usual confirmed the erection of a barrier. "Just as I do the opposite, avoiding by control what you do by deceit. But no matter, we all have our reasons…"

'_**Guts!' **_the blonde invoked mentally—one simple word, but all that was needed to activate her magic circuits, flooding them with mana in preparation for what was to come, or what might come, as—

—a chorus of soul-rending shrieks sounded from below, cut off moments later by a sickening _crunch-gurgle-hiss_, as if still-beating hearts had just been wrenched from the chests of unsuspecting victims, and—

"Milly, what the hell was…?" Kallen asked, instinctively tensing into a defensive stance at the sound of the chilling screams, looking to and fro for any trace of a visible enemy, but finding none.

But the blonde was already in motion, hiking up her skirts and withdrawing a small silver cylinder, as she concentrated on _something_ beyond sight, lips shaping soundless words as she prompted Kallen to draw the two ritual daggers concealed in her own dress.

'_No…this malignance…could our enemy have a measure of presence concealment?'_

_Whoosh-pop!_

And then, with a pop and the sound of displaced air, the enemy appeared before them, with the false "Zero" drenched in blood and viscera, having slaughtered all those below and absorbed their souls for his own use, his form a seething mass of corruption radiating an overwhelming sense of death and power, hellfire blazing from his form.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA," this dark wraith howled in maniacally, raising a hand towards the heavens. "Such a delicious feast below…the blood and fear of those who deprived of everything, pompous ones shown in their last moments to be as banal as any weakling pleading for his life."

And then its blank mask turned in the direction of the two young women regarding it, laughter redoubling.

"Two more little insects? Tell me…" it hissed maliciously. "I, Zero, ask: what do you value most in your miserable, worthless lives?!"

"_**Atlas!"**_

A single word issued from the blonde's lips, binding the image in her mind and making it real—increasing the local atmospheric pressure around the fake to freeze the target in place—

"_**Die, you fake Zero!"**_

—a fierce battle cry tearing from Kallen's throat as the redhead charged in, closing the distance with but two steps, plunging twin ritual daggers to the hilt into the fake's chest—

_Whump!_

'_**Burn!'**_

—as a wave of heat surged forth from her body and through her arms, channeled into the target as—

_Whoosh!_

—it was set aflame, form seeming to tremble for a moment before being seemingly consumed by the flame and dissolving into nothingness, with the twin knives clattering on the ground, hissing and blackening as they began to decay, almost as if they had been immersed in acid.

'_What the hell? Just touching the body of that faker made these weapons dis—'_

"_**Fool!"**_

A snarl from the side, as Kallen whirled, about, fists and legs already moving to—

_Crash!_

—a black corrupted wind of materialized malignant information shot from this false "Zero's" hands, catching the redhead full in the chest and hurling her to the ground, with the beastlike form of the masked criminal lunging for her, reaching towards her heart as—

"What?"

An incredulous whisper, as the murderer found that the hand which had killed so many up till now could not pierce the chest of this latest victim. Which was only natural, considering that a spiritual body cannot pass through objects with a large concentration of mana, and as a magus, Kallen had magical energy spread through her body—

_Pow!_

—enough to let _her_ interact with the enemy, delivering a devastating uppercut to its blank mask as she used the opening to recover backwards to her feet, flames wreathing her hands to burn away the corruption they had touched.

"_**Air Strike!"**_

Kallen's punch was followed by a devastating onslaught of blades of razor wind that would have cut any mortal being into pieces, but in this case, only caused the enemy to stagger, even as its chest was torn open—and reformed in an instant, as it laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Is that all, insects?" the false Zero hissed. "Is that all you can manage, you mortal fools?"

Growling at the unexpected failure of his assault, and more, at the fact that he had been hit again, the false Zero drew upon the souls it had consumed for power, leaping into the air and unleashing rapidfire blasts of black cutting winds, each a blade forged to tear Kallen in two!

"_**Malignant Terror!"**_

"_**Aero!"**_

—but Milly was not without tricks either, and speaking a word of power, created a vortex of wind to cancel out the foe's attack.

But the shadow magic had only been a feint, as the homicide genius preferred to end lives with his own hands, rather than from range, finding a kill that he could savor was so much more…satisfying.

Bypassing Kallen, the false one moved to slash Milly with his shadowy claws, a strike with strength and speed beyond human limits, capable of easily ripping through a human body as though it was cutting a piece of tofu.

_Whirr!_

A breeze brushed past Milly's forehead as the attack came within millimeters of striking her, with the blonde having just managed to avoid the attack by reinforcing her arms and legs as she sprang back, leaping into the air and spinning about, flicking her wrist as—

_Click-snap!_

—the compressed silver cylinder in her hand extended explosively to its full length in a blinding thrust to the side of the enemy's abdomen, aiming for the liver, the tip preceded by several powerful shockwaves to minimize actual contact, all focused on a single point.

_Whump!_

The force of the false Zero's momentum, together with the shockwave from Milly's staff, made the abomination's body arc like a bow as it was hurled backwards in the air, with the blonde magus in pursuit.

_Bam! Thwack!_

Following the flying body closely, Milly struck her enemy's chin with her elbow, moments before it would have touched the ground, surrounding her arm with violently rotating winds to—

_Thump!_

—decapitate the enemy, ending its existence and deciding the battle.

"_**Shadow Reaver!"**_

…or at least, that would have been the outcome had the fake been a normal person, or even a normal magus. But considering that the Vampire of Britannia had become a Ghost Liner, a spirit body fed and maintained by consuming the souls of living creatures…such an attack could not destroy him!

Instead, in mid-flight, the faker simply regenerated, used the momentum imparted by the blow to spin himself around, launching a vicious flurry of shadowy lances at Milly's jaw—

_Whirr!_

—which was avoided once again, or rather, blocked by a barrier of mana-infused shockwaves that the Ashford magus conjured by spinning her staff as she retreated, moving over to Kallen's position.

"Damnit!" the blonde cursed, her eyes flashing gold in anger. "I'm going to have to resort to my more powerful spells against this one…and they take considerably longer to cast."

But the shadow lances continued to rain down upon them, giving Milly no opportunity to switch to another spell, since that would require additional concentration—concentration she could not spare, as it was all she could do to simply defend against the assault

"Interesting, you thought you could defeat me?" the implacable figure chortled, cackling maliciously once more. "Fools! Hahaha…your fear, your anxiety, the uncertainty within your heart—I can taste it. In the end, let me show you your fears—the destruction of what you value most. _**Nightmare Spiral!"**_

It was an overwhelming attack, a tornado of materialized fear and terror, a curse strong enough to be visible—a whirl of information concentrated enough to have a physical effect, drawing out the rumors and fears of those consumed by its vortex of corrupted wind.

"Nii…san?" Kallen's voice quavered, as she saw the form of her brother—her dead brother—step out of the vortex, flanked by Kaname Ohgi and Shinichiro Tamaki, all of which were clad in the greys of the Britannian Military, each hefting an assault rifle in their hands. "Ohgi? Tam—"

"Traitor," the phantom Naoto spat, cutting her off, as the rifle in his hands barked once-twice-thrice, a full clip of deadly flechettes ripping c_rack-a-crack-a-crack! _through the redhead's body—

"Move!"

Or so they would have, if Milly had not grabbed the petrified Kallen and hurled them both off the roof of the building (and out of the path of the attack) with a cry of _**"Flans Paries Venti Vertentis,"**_ calling upon the wind to slow their descent to a nonfatal speed.

'_All I'm going to say is this had better work…'_

* * *

**Shiba Park**, **Tokyo Settlement**

At the sight of the onslaught of the tornado of absolute darkness, Lelouch tore himself from his trance and broke into a run, moving towards the site of death and destruction as quickly as his legs could carry him, feet _tramp-tramp-tramping_ through puddles and gloom only to skid to a stop as he drew near the Britannian Victory Memorial Center, his stomach heaving as he bore witness to his surroundings.

'_Bodies…scattered everywhere, with the blood and entrails of many nobles left strewn over the ground—an ocean of blood, seemingly out of hell itself…_he _certainly shows himself full well…'_

A whistling sound in the distance as—

_SPLASH!_

—a very irate Milly touched down in a spray of water, setting Kallen down from a fireman's carry, with the redhead speechless in shock at what she had seen just moments prior. Of course, Milly had a solution to that too, and given her pattern of behavior with the rest of the student council—

_Thwack!_

—one could have guessed it would involve some measure of percussive maintenance, with a slap—

"Hey, K.K., angst later," the blonde warned, shaking the redhead. "Big problem on our hands, as in _demonic Zero impersonator trying to kill us._"

_Thwack!_

—and then a backhand for good measure to boot Kallen out of her momentary mental blue screen of death with a bit of pain.

"Wha—"

But the redhead was cut off by the sound of shadowy lances crashing from above with the speed of bullets, with Milly forced to conjure another barrier of mana-infused shockwaves to block, straining under the exertion as the intensity of the onslaught redoubled.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA," echoed all about as the false Zero touched down in a whirlwind of darkness, a black shadow that seemed to absorb all light by opening its arms like wings, sounding almost as if he was in ecstasy from seeing their suffering. "Ah, futile resistance, such cruel joy and sorrow!"

From the cloaked form of the main body emanated a crimson glow, as sixteen horrors crawled out of the false one's flesh—large demonic entities with neither a discernable torso nor appendages, instead existing as bundles of countless tentacles and mouth-like openings marked with shark-like blades, ferally hissing and screeching as they soaked up the blood on the ground, then shuffled towards Milly and Kallen, intending to drain their life force.

"Versatility is evolution, what the masses have approved for a thousand years," the false Zero continued to rant. "Learning, eating, living, killing killing killing. At last, reaching the beloved evolution evolution evolution into beasts...! This is the end!"

_Whoosh!_

'_I will not be killed this way!'_

Before Kallen registered any of these words consciously, her body was already in motion, as raw molten power flooded through every part of her body, a blistering heat from within that was enough to drive her insane as she barreled towards the enemy, her body alight with white-hot flames, flash boiling the water before her into superheated steam!

_FWHOOSH!_

'_That's right…I don't have to think, don't have to hesitate…I just have to attack!'_

But her advance was countered by a surging tide of shadowy flame, imbued with the miasma of decay and despair as the opponent lifted himself into the air once more, sending the horrors to attack her and Milly.

'_Crap…this is bad…'_

True, no matter how large, fast or brutal these demonic horrors were, they could not kill the flame magus unless they touched her—but even her powerful white-hot flames were not completely vaporizing them.

_Boom!_

The central mass of one horror exploded from extreme heat.

_Splatter!_

The innards of another painted the walls of the Center.

_Blam!_

Searing pain, as a corrosive tentacle caught her from behind, somehow resisting the flame's effects, knocking her to the ground, where her flames had to contend not only with the creatures around her, but the water seeping towards her and the rain around, trying to extinguish her fire, as one by one, the creatures attacked her, each kill eroding her store of magical energy.

'_Become the flame become the flame become the flame…'_

The flame-body ability—so far, Kallen's ultimate ability both offensively and defensively—but how long could she maintain it? Even under circumstances, it consumed mana at an alarming rate, and now…given that the terrain itself was against her…

But she had no time to calculate, to think about these things, much as fire itself did not think, a simple force of great destruction that simply burned away all in its path.

And while those two were engaged in a struggle for survival, Lelouch had finally entered the area, his mind frantically running through options on that to do, since if Kallen and Milly were lost, he would die soon after—most likely by the hands of the false Zero—and even if he didn't, he had a feeling that his mission of vengeance would be over before it began.

'_Hmm…what actions can I take…'_

Obviously, given what he had seen earlier, hitting the enemy with his staff would be all but useless, and given that the enemy was some sort of powerful spirit, possession wouldn't work—in the worst case scenario, attempted possession might lead to his own death.

The Unified Language would probably work, but…the problem with his sound based ability was that it would affect everyone in an area, could not be targeted specifically, except if he knew the name of an adversary or a distinguishing trait. Thus, he couldn't simply order the unknown alone to die, since he didn't know an identifier for the assailant…which was unfortunate.

This left one option…the weapon of last resort on his belt, something that Milly had told him to use only if absolutely necessary.

'_I think now qualifies as absolutely necessary_,'the exiled prince thought grimly, as he seized his staff in one hand and the…strange wand with wings and a star on the other, approaching the false Zero from cover and pouring mana into the device. _'My last option…or perhaps my only one from the beginning…'_

Alas, any hope for subtlety or stealth went out the metaphorical window when a radiant light enveloped Lelouch's form, with a mischievous voice from the wand beginning to speak.

"My my, what do we have here? Oh this promises to be very interesting…" the unknown voice snarked. "_**Kaleidostick**_ - _**Compact Open! Prism Trance Initiating!"**_

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement**

In another part of the Tokyo Settlement, a squad of Magus Killers had received a warning that something strange was underfoot near the site of the Britannian Victory Memorial Center, and so they had been dispatched to deal with the possible threat of rogue magi. To those not cleared to know about them, they were simply irregulars embedded amongst the patrols of Britannian soldiers, soldiers specially trained for special operations—to those who were, their mission was to seek out and eliminate any non-military sanctioned magi in Area 11.

Their primary weapons, besides some proficiency in magecraft: Sakuradite-laced bullets, a form of custom ammunition chosen specifically for their high explosive power, able to outright kill most foes by blowing them apart—or to break apart those annoying fluid barriers that automatically reacted to danger (such as the Volumen Hydragram, which some wind/water magi tended to use).

Detecting a trace of magic in the distance, they began to move as silently as possible through the storm, their boots quietly tramping through puddles, tossing up water, as their grey-clad forms sheathed in body armor ruthlessly made their way forward—until they suddenly could not, as all at once, the water froze around their feet, trapping them in place, with the moon seeming to appear in the sky overhead.

"A mana flux…and a change in the surroundings," one of them observed, readying his weapon. "Which can only mean one thing…"

A quiet chuckle from in front of them, as a young little girl dressed in a winter coat and dress of white walked daintily into view.

"Good evening, gentlemen magus killers," the young girl said politely, looking up at them with unearthly red eyes and curtseying to them. "I'm afraid I cannot let you pass, since you have taken the time to walk into my trap."

Although the white-haired girl gave the outward impression of innocence, every one of the seasoned magus killers could feel an overwhelming feeling of danger as she smiled, with the very air seeming to chill in her presence.

"She…she's…not…" one of them murmured, squeezing the trigger and sending—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—a wave of sakuradite-laced bullets at the little girl.

_Thud!_

But the bullets were stopped in mid-air by a shimmering barrier of pure magical energy looking almost like glass—or a mirror, detonating uselessly against its surface to reveal that the barrier remained untouched.

"…human?" the girl in white asked maliciously, in that cruel but pitying way that some will, smirking at the expressions on the shooter's face. "I thought that much was obvious, my-soon-to-be-dead guests."

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Fzzt!_

As if her words had been some kind of twisted cue, the entire squad opened fire, sending hundreds of tracers of light and heat streaking at the girl's barrier, alongside three fireballs and a bolt of lightning, each spell loosed with enough power to wipe out a house!

_Crash!_

But when the smoke cleared, and the dust settled, the little girl's barrier had withstood this fierce assault without so much as flickering, with the temperature dropping further further further as she laughed.

"Fufufufu….do you still not understand?" the seemingly albino girl asked, tilting her head. "This snowy field is my world. There is nothing here which will not bend to my will. Not even you."

A last curtsey and a pirouette, as spears of ice erupted from the ground below, trapping each of the hapless magus killers in a cage of sorts, as—

"Un, deux, trois!"

—with a squelch, razor sharp petals of ice erupted from the cores of each figure, skewering them where they stood, as their mana was leeched away to form vast translucent fleurs du mal, their life essences drained and added to this frozen world.

"Goodbye living ones, and hello, my dead guests," she said at last, once her "snack" was over, and then the frozen world shattered, giving way to grey reality again. "My my, Agents of the Association have become much weaker in 800 years."

On the rooftop of a nearby building, a sniper drew a beat upon the forehead of the girl who had just seemingly killed off all of his comrades.

'_I'll have to make this shot count as—'_

_BLAM!_

A blaze of blue fire slammed into the sniper's side, as a rushing figure in red ambushed him, light blazing from one outstretch arm—

Fwoosh!

—the man was vaporized, his lips barely having enough time to shape the words "Magic…Gunner…" before they were utterly erased from existence.

With that taken care of, the figure on the roof flipped to the ground, landing gracefully in front of the girl in white.

"Hmph…always so carefree," the girl in white sniffed, shaking her head at the sight of the older woman, a mysterious magus with unnaturally red hair, wearing a black dress shirt, white skirt, and a red overcoat. "Going somewhere to get away from your sister again? You never do change, do you…"

"Nice to see you too, Ren…thank you for the help," the redhaired magus said, lips quirking into a thin smile. "I was just stepping outside the shop taking care of errands for the Old Man. Come tomorrow…well, tomorrow is a new day, the start of a solitary journey with a single trunk and a free spirit, since I never had a set purpose to begin with."

"W-w-who would try to help you?" the snowy white succubus asked indignantly, turning up her nose. "I was just bored, that's all, so don't get the wrong idea."

"Right…right, Ren...anyway, let's go back to the shop for now...its a little cold out."

* * *

**Aerial Battle, Tokyo Settlement**

"_**Compact Open! Prism Trance Initiating!"**_

Prism Trance – the ultimate ability of the Kaleidostick, the sentient wand crafted by Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg, the master of alternate possibilities. When activated, this powerful artifact transferred knowledge from an alternate version of its user into its current wielder, in addition to providing him or her access to the mana of infinite worlds. Truly, a masterful device, one capable of turning the tide of any battle…

"A new master, and one so rife with contradictions? Interesting…I think I have the just the perfect thing," the wand chattered away, as if what was going on outside was of no relevance. "Transformation sequence, fully powered alternate, even theme music. Let's go!"

'_Come on…come on…I'm right here….the Soul of the Mirage…ZERO!'_

"Wha—"

But Lelouch's objection was cut off as the entire bounded area was bathed in a flare of rainbow colored light, too brilliant to look directly at, veiling his form as his current clothes and weapons clattered to the ground, and—

"_**Absolute Zero!"**_

—from the center of the bloom of light, numerous orbs of ice and darkness lanced out towards the false Zero, carving icy furrows into the ground as the enemy jumped aside instinctively, freezing air in its wake, with tendrils of withering lightning decaying whatever they so much as grazed.

"What? Who dares to break the sanctity of my feast of blood?" the Vampire of Britannia snarled, still in his guise as Zero, as he readied a second fierce attack, breaking off his rain of shadow lances. "Tell me, stranger…what do you value most?! _**Nightmare Spiral!"**_

To almost any being, such a thing would be an overwhelming attack, making one's nightmares take physical form to destroy the victim, but—

"_**Phantasmal Form – Sacred Moon!" **_a hoarse, but distinctly feminine voice bellowed from within the maelstrom of darkness.

—that tornado like attack was cancelled by an anti-spiral of silver light, with a strange figure emerging unscathed from the center of the conflagration to challenge the false Zero, twirling a staff in defense—one that seemed to have merged with the Kaleidostick.

This was the form the Kaleidostick (in its wealth of wisdom/malice) had chosen from an infinite number of possibilities, combining the "best" of what Lelouch had to offer (his abilities as a large ham and his rather feminine nature). In this form, "she" (for he did appear remarkably feminine—and was in a rather graceful dancer's pose, back arched, at that) as a powerful Knight of Vengeance, a servant of the Lord of Blood and Contract herself—though Lelouch still didn't look the part.

Or did he? One had to question his identity as a magic knight, given that "he" was possessed of flowing black hair done up into twintails by mauve ribbons, a ruffled black and purple skirt and top combination somewhat akin to the Zero outfit, and black thigh-high boots edged with purple, as if it had been chosen to mock what a knight—should be, with a set of silver six pointed shades hiding his eyes topping off the ensemble.

Still, looks could be deceiving, and anyone who dared to call him a magical girl would know what it meant to be on the receiving end of vengeance.

"Did you think you could stop me with such a thing, abomination?" this transformed warrior spat, eyes blazing with crimson light, as bird-shaped forms manifested themselves in each glowing orb. "I, who am the Mirage Knight of the Eclipse Princess of Black Blood, I who am feared by even the mighty Lord of the White Wing himself, _**I who am…Zero?! IMPOSTER, JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!!!! MIRAGE MISSILE MASSACRE!"**_

_WHIRR! WHIRR! WHIRR!_

A massive swarm of projectiles of prismatic light lanced out from the slender form of the Mirage Knight, curving and arcing through the air as they quickly closed the distance between Knight and Faker, forcing the false Zero to take to the air in an attempt to evade, even as the thorns of light followed—with Lelouch not far behind, taking to the air on massive black wings reminiscent of a crow's.

_BOOM!_

An equal and opposite barrage of dark lances surged from the imposter, precisely piercing the center of every projectile that threatened to impale him.

"Tch! Is that all you can do, little magical girl?" the Vampire of Britannia sneered from behind the mask of Zero. "As long as you carry anxiety, you can't defeat me. For I am Zero, the embodiment of your nightmares! So tell me…what do _you_ val—"

"_**Twilight Blades - Converge!"**_

_WHOOSH!_

But the false Zero was cut off in mid-sentence as man-sized iridescent swords of revealing light tore through the space where he had been just a moment ago, with a…rather irate Mirage Knight launching volley after volley of energy blades at the imposter.

"What was that you called me?" the Kaleidostick-possessed Lelouch asked with a strangely inhuman calm—the kind one would expect immediately before a tornado touches down and destroys everything in the immediate area. "A magical girl, was it? A magical girl? _**I…AM…A…MIRAGE…KNIGHT, NOT A MAGICAL GIRL**_!!! "

_CRASH!_

"_**Screaming Darkness: Crimson Mist!"**_

But the sword rain was countered by a barrage of daggers seemingly forged of human blood, as thousands of illusionary blades collided, destroying each other in midair, with both figures hurtling towards one another through the—

_Hiss!_

'_By the Crimson Moon herself, a corrosive blood power?!' _the altered Lelouch thought, as he altered course, raven wings beating in an attempt to ward away the corrosive mist that threatened to melt him down, clearing away a small area—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

—as a renewed rain of shadow lances smashed down upon his Phantasmal Barrier like the hammer of the gods, the sheer force behind the impact hurling the Mirage Knight from the air, hurling him into the side of the building with a mighty _CRASH!_

"Another miserable insect swatted…and now, for the conclusion of my feast," the false one rumbled as he turned his attention to the redhead and blonde he had been forced to abandon earlier, as—

"_**Phantasmal Killer!"**_

Light and heat surged outward from a massive dislocation in space, a coruscating torrent of power that tore into the imposter—and melted away his disguise, forcing him back into his original form as the Knight of Ten!

For that was the power of Phantasmal Killer, a technique used by a master of lies to destroy the inferior illusions of others, reducing them to delusions to be crushed by the world.

'_Wh—at…how…' _Luciano Bradley's spiritual body staggered under the assault as his illusionary image was stripped away, torn from his very being. _'No…now I will have to kill them all!'_

"_**Nightmare Incarnation!"**_

With a fierce cry, the Ghost Liner materialized knives of congealed blood and darkness, hurling them at his assailant with the speed of bullets—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

—but these were but a feint to conceal his true attack as the malevolent spirit split into 3 doppelgangers, each holding a massive orb of darkness in its shadowy claws to rend the Mirage Knight into a thousand pieces!

But the Kaleidostick-possessed Lelouch only hissed in hysteric rage, throwing off the rubble around his form with a flare of azure light and bursting forward through the air in a series of flash steps. "First you dare to steal my name, using it as your stalk about in an overly flamboyant outfit with no fashion sense whatsoever, playing at drawing out evils in the hearts of man, and now you have the gall to call me a mere magical girl, no, an insect? Perhaps it is time I fought seriously…"

A blur as he vanished from sight, followed by a few moments of blood-curdling laughter before the Mirage Knight rematerialized in the sky above, a powerful circle of runes surrounding his form.

"_**Is that all you can do, mongrel?" **_the servant of the Lord of Blood and Contract snickered, baring his teeth to reveal razor-sharp fangs, the staff in his hands glowing with a most sinister black light. "_**Well then**_, _**prepare for your end, Vampire! Resistance is futile—but nonetheless, welcome."**_

* * *

**Outside Britannian Victory Memorial Center,** **Tokyo Settlement**

While the battle of Zeros took place in the skies above the Settlement, the two magi on the ground below had not been idle either, as the moment that Lelouch had transformed into "Mirage Knight Zero" and attacked the imposter, forcing the false one to break off his attack, Milly had acted, using her wind magic to slice the horrors in Kallen's immediate area to ribbons, giving her some breathing room.

In this opening, Kallen recovered to her feet, her flames and Milly's azure wind mixing together in a powerful inferno that—

_WHOOSH!_

—vaporized a goodly number of the masses of mouths and tentacles as Kallen redoubled her efforts, pitting herself against time, against her enemies, against the environment itself.

_Boom! Splatter! Hiss!_

Body wreathed in flames, Kallen struck again and again and again, blasting the monstrosities before her to pieces—but each time she did, another simply arose to take its place, as if they were not creatures at all, merely phantasms created of mana by the false one.

Milly frowned at this, even as she continued to provide the redhead with ranged support, using her command over the winds.

'_Unless we wipe them all out at once, they'll just keep respawning,' _she mused, all the while launching shockwaves to keep the enemies off balance. _'Should I use my greatest spell, the fruit of hundreds of years of research by the Ashford family? Secrecy issues aside, to gather enough power to truly wipe these creatures from existence will require some time…time in which I will be completely defenseless—and of course, unable to offer Kallen any aid. And what happens then has already been seen…"_

Still, there was no choice, as even combining their powers, the two of them had been unable to wipe out the summoned creatures of the false Zero—who had apparently been the Knight of Ten?—and although they currently held the horrors at bay, there was no way to win a prolonged fight.

'_Indeed, if this goes on for too much longer, Kallen's mana will be depleted again…meaning I'll be the only one left, and the horrors are cutting off our escape. So be it…this will be a test for her as well…it isn't as if she hasn't dealt with near death experiences before.'_

Shaking her head, the battered Ashford magus took a deep breath and made up her mind, pulling back from the scene of battle and withdrawing a rather large topaz containing seven years worth of magical energy from the pouch strapped to her thigh, energy that had been painstakingly stored by dripping blood onto the stone each night.

"K.K., I'm going to use my strongest ability," the blonde shouted to her companion, in order to be heard over the din of magic and melee combat. "Buy me some time!"

"Did you have to shout it out loud?" Kallen screamed incredulously, flaring what was left of her power as the now-unhindered demon beasts lunged towards her, with the tide of battle changing in a heartbeat. Now it was the magus of flame on the defensive, as the monstrous creatures rushed at her, trying to overwhelm her shield of flame and swinging fists. "If I die, I am going to haunt you as a vengeful spirit and burn away everything you own!"

Anger built and built and built within her, expelling itself through every bit of Kallen's body as molten inferno, a conflagration of destruction and vengeance that flashed out again and again and again, scorching the concrete black.

Regrettably, Milly had already dropped into a state of intense concentration, sinking deep into her consciousness to connect herself to the winds swirling within the barrier.

'_Winds of the eternal maelstrom, hidden from world's sight….'_

Magecraft, after all, was the recreation of a miracle, using the will of the caster, together with the magic circuit to impose one's will on the world. And so, spells were merely a form of self-hypnosis to help one reach the state of mind needed to forge a miracle.

'_Tossing and straining against the chains of despair  
May it be you are released—'_

Sinking deep within her consciousness, deeper deeper deeper than she had ever gone before, Milly immersed herself in the torrent of mana released from the shattering of the topaz in her hand, an azure thread that linked her soul to a vast and empty sky.

'—_to rage within the mortal realm  
Wrapping all within the tempest's cloak'_

As a human, she was an extension of Alaya, the unconscious, universal wish of all humanity to live on, and now she drew upon that connection as best she could, herself in one hand, the world in the other. The human was not isolated from the world, the human was not of the world—and yet the two did not have to be opposed.

'_Concealing from sight, concealing in infinite destruction  
all that remains of the paradox spiral'_

In the physical world, violent winds began to gather around Milly's defenseless form, raging, tearing, a vortex of supreme power compressing and accelerating more and more and more as her consciousness expanded to encompass the air itself as far as her mind could reach—about a kilometer in radius as she surveyed the battle.

'_Thus, I invoke the power of the four demonic winds….'_

The infinite vectors of the air itself, the ocean that bounded the world, controlled, suppressed, roaring as the swirled together like molten plasma, no, hotter still, as more and more magical energy was being poured into it, forcing the winds to conform to the Ashford magus' will, coming together in a fierce light that could pulverize any opposition.

_Thump! Blam! Splatter!_

How much time had passed? A minute? Two minutes? Five?

Kallen didn't know, didn't care to know, knowing only that she was panting, her reserves growing dangerously low as she tried her best to defend, fists flying, legs lashing out, flames searing out against the corruption.

"Enough!" a much welcome voice shouted from behind, as the redhead gathered what shreds of energy she had left and—

_WHOOSH!_

—loosed it all in one titanic flare, incinerating all the creatures in her path, buying the flame magus a few precious seconds to fall back, body moving on will alone, looking over to see…

'_Is that…'_

A maelstrom of raging wind glowing with inner power above the blonde, who was looking at the scene of battle and the quick regenerating demon beasts with glowing golden eyes filled with enmity. Sensing the extreme danger, Kallen ran as she had never done before, sprinting as fast as her wounded legs would carry her, leaving a trail of steam in her wake.

"Terrifying" was not enough to describe what her instincts were screaming at her, at the sight of that glowing mass of wind, just as "moist" did not describe an ocean.

_Clip-clop-clip-clop-splash!_

Her feet carried her onwards, with the shadow beasts not far behind, as she raced towards Milly's position, knowing that the only safe place would be behind the blonde. A hundred meters, fifty meters, _slither—_the horrors were closing in.

Twenty meters.

Ten.

Five.

And just as she reached safety, her flames winking out…

"…_**Anemoi Thuellai!'**_

A voice rang out in the darkness, and with the uttering of the true name and the completion of the spell, what had been suppressed, contained was at last released into the world. The swirl of destruction was set loose from Milly's hands—a storm of power that surged out, destroying everything in its path. No ordinary attack this, but the culmination of the Ashford Family's research, compressing and accelerating wind pressure to a point of near infinite density, creating a false space-time dislocation that could utterly annihilate any opposition in its path.

There was no way to avoid it, nor to block, for what good were such concepts against an attack that sundered space itself? Neither could the demon beasts regenerate from this, as this destroyed even their concepts of existence, imprinting a sense of truth upon the world—the truth of the world before the illusion of life.

_Silence._

When it faded, nothing remained in the wake of that attack—not the demons, not Tokyo Tower or the buildings immediately adjacent to it—not even the corpses of the dead, or a drop of rainwater for at least a hundred meters around.

Nothing, that was, save the Kaleidostick-possessed Lelouch and the spirit body of the Knight of Ten, who continued to clash in the sky above, two figures engaged a deadly duel to the death.

In the near silence that followed, Milly was the first to move.

"Alright…our part is done…the rest is up to L.L.," Milly muttered weakly, forcing what dregs of magical energy she had left into her limbs and staggering over to Kallen, helping the redhead to her feet.

Kallen looked as if she was about to protest, but Milly silenced her with a wave.

"Neither of us is in any condition to keep fighting at the moment," the blonde said firmly, wincing as her body protested even the slightest bit of movement. "Damn, there went seven years of saving up. Only small one-year gems left now…while L.L. has that mystical artifact…"

The Ashford heir allowed herself a short bark of laughter as she looked up at the sky, where the "Mirage Knight" and the Ghost Liner were currently launching a great deal of beam spam at one another.

"Thank Alaya that L.L. managed to get that barrier set up before this entire snafu," the blonde deadpanned, shaking her head. "Otherwise, we'd be kneedeep in magus killers and knightmares by now. Meh…so much for the subtle, quick operation we planned on."

Kallen had to blink at this absurd statement, as her eyes flicked to the remains of…well, nothing at ground level.

"Speak for yourself Milly," the redhead groaned, fighting the urge to do what Lelouch so often did when confronted by the blonde's actions—facepalm. "You…just leveled…the Britannian Victory Memorial Center…"

An eloquent, dismissive shrug.

"It was an eyesore anyway. Come on, let's get out of here. _**Guts!**_"

"That's the first reasonable—hey!"

The protest was at Milly scooping up the redhead in a bridal carry and _running _from the scene_, _using the energytrapped in another gem to reinforcing her limbs.

"M-milly? What's going on, why are you…?"

"Just shut up and stop moving around already. We have to get out of here before those two—" A meaningful look at the sky. "—finish their battle, since I have a feeling that it's not going to be pretty. Especially if we get caught in the crossfire..."

* * *

**Aerial Battle, Above Shiba Park, Tokyo Settlement**

_Blam!_

A cloud of dust arose as the Kaleidostick-possessed Lelouch was slammed into a building by a tornado of malignant information, with his Phantasmal Barrier shuddering under the impact of scores of shadowy orbs—which then proceeded to detonate in blooms of madder flame.

'_Damnit…my enemy's relentless attacks are eroding the phase space of my barrier…'_

_Fsh!_

A flare of prismatic light appeared, only to reveal a relatively unscathed Mirage Knight, the silver sheen of his portable bounded field beginning to flicker under the intensity of the assault. It wasn't the physical impacts that were the trouble, really, but the corrosive magic of the enemy, the materialization of nightmares and anxieties.

'_Calculating enemy ability. Simulating possible choices. Retrieving optimal solution. Working.'_

Lelouch maneuvered quickly in the air, dodging, weaving, rolling, to avoid being struck by one or another of the three shadow clones of the Vampire of Britannia as—

_Fsh!_

—a black tentacle of malignant information hissed towards his face, only to be severed by a slash of power from his staff.

'_Must buy time…'_

"_**Mirage Missile Massacre: Aether**_!"

A second flurry of magical arrows of light and ice blitzed from all about the Mirage Knight's form, homing missiles streaking right for the enemy who, curving and arcing through the air as they quickly closed the distance between Knight and the trio of Fakers, as—

"_**SLASH EMPEROR!"**_

—Lelouch flash stepped through the space, his staff transmuted into a giant scythe of light that—

_Slice!_

—cut through and destroyed one of the doppelgangers, the oversized blade rending the enemy to shreds of shadow.

"_**Infinite Terror!"**_

Not that Lamperouge's enemies were without tricks, as the two remaining shades hurled down hundreds, no, thousands of shadowy lances—enough to blot out the stormy sky itself as they surged forth, tracking the diminutive form of the Mirage Knight through the sky, even as the blade of the scythe retracted, with the weapon shrinking back to its normal form.

'_Working. Calculations in progress. Extrapolating likely enemy action…taking evasive pattern Dark-6.'_

A hard barrel roll to the left, a jink up, down, avoiding, one-two-three, flaring mana to deflect the rest as—

_Squelch!_

—one or two unfortunately penetrated the Mirage Knight's defenses, as shadowy claws ripped into his side, sending convulsions of pain through his all-too-human form.

"Guh…damnit, if it penetrated, that means…"

"_Warning. Phantasmal Barrier breached,"_ the voice of the Kaleidostick seemed to speak into his mind. _"Recommended course of action…"_

"_**Prism Defense—Phantom Canceller!" **_the magus hissed out, invoking an temporary shield of prismatic light that burst forth from every pore of Lelouch's form, as a torrent of mana was dumped into his magic circuit, a raging power that pushed back against the darkness as more and more of the shadow spears closed in.

Heat and light rumbled wildly, as the darkness relentlessly pushed in, to the backdrop of the Knight of Ten's maddened laughter.

'_Must maintain body integrity. I…will…not…die…like this! Hmm…calculation complete. Recommended course of action –initiation of Requiem Mode. Proceed?'_

"Acknowledged," the magus spoke aloud, straining with exertion as raw magical energy warred against the overwhelming tide of materialized curses threatening to tear him apart. "Initiating Requiem Mode—Final Flight."

With that, the staff was hurled upward as his aura strained, cracking under the pressure, and then disappeared, as _squelch-squelch-squelch, _lances of shadow pierced the limbs and such.

"Foolish, I was waiting for you to drop your shield! Now, by the power of infinite nightmares—_**Disappear**_!" the twin Knights of Ten howled, conjuring up a truly enormous tempest of darkness that consumed the lances, thrusting to drill through the motionless Mirage Knight, but—

"Form Setup Complete," Lamperouge intoned emotionlessly, the staff reappearing in front of the magus, wreathed in silver light, as a strange liquid armor darker than black coated every part of his body, freezing the space around him—as well as the enemy's attack halted while touching him. "_**Now…you can't get away."**_

Purple runes and magic circles manifested themselves around the Mirage Knight, as the winds around the combatants howled and the temperature plummeted precipitously, as if every bit of energy was being wrung from the local environment, lights across the city beginning to flickering, everything freezing within the radius of the original barrier as electricity, heat, and all else was drained from the atmosphere, into a singularity forming between Lelouch's outstretched hands.

"HAHAHAHA….Nightmares, was it_**?" **_the Lamperouge magus' voice boomed out in the frozen environment. _**"**_Even Nightmares are but a fragment of all that exists, created by the anxiety of mortal minds—anxieties which I surpassed long ago in this waking dream we call reality!"

"What—no, why isn't it—"

"SILENCE, YOU WHOSE VERY EXISTENCE MOCKS THE NOBLE TITLE OF VAMPIRE!" the Mirage Knight roared, power congealing, building, building, drawing in lines of light and all else as his red eyes glowed ominously in the darkness. "You are as nothing before the Truth, and now, by the ultimate power of this illusionary world, the forbidden power for which I am named—return to Nothingness!"

This was a prime example of why one should not go around pushing other people's berserk buttons, tormenting those perceived as weak, for eventually one will encounter a victim that will snap, not only turning the tables, but blowing up the table and taking advantage of the ensuing temporary blindness to break the tormentor's neck--or worse

"This power shall pass through me…!"

Absolute darkness converged and congealed into a sphere, crackling at the edges with chaos lightning, absorbing the nightmares and stolen life energy that made up the false one's mass.

"What has been suppressed…shall be returned."

An ultimate black light, like a hole in the fabric of reality was readied for release.

"And now…false claimant to my noble title, I bid you…_**burn in the everlasting hellfire of creation! Be annihilated down to the very... last... trace... of...lingering memory!!**_" the Mirage Knight snarled with relish, bringing his hands back for a final blow. "_**Finishing Move – Geass of Absolute Destruction—**_!"

All at once, the power was loosed, a deceptively small point of infinite darkness that slammed into and through every last scrap of the Knight of Ten present on the field—with the counter-reaction propelling Lelouch up and away--even as a massive implosion began in the space below as everything collapsed, being consumed by the quantum singularity, greedily sucking in matter and energy as it sought stability—

"– _**ZERO REQUIEM!"**_

As he spoke its true name, Lelouch's Mirage form beat his wings furiously to escape the barrier, as he was the only one capable of movement within that field. Closer, closer, closer to the edge as—

_Clear! BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!_

—with the light of a hundred suns, implosion gave way to explosion as the singularity failed to attain critical mass and _detonated_, an unbroken sphere of destruction expanding outwards, reaching the barrier and turning back, bounding and rebounding as everything within the radius of the bounded field simply ceased to exist, vicious shockwaves of the detonated singularity ripping apart everything within down to component atoms--no, to its constituent subatomic particles, revealing the part of creation affected to be a false mirage.

_Rumble._

The settlement itself shook as plates underground buckled under the heat and pressure, a chain reaction of instability that spread out--and passed, along with an electromagnetic pulse that shut down nearly every electrical device in the settlement.

Then at last, the spell's effects faded and the barrier with it. All that that remained in its wake in the immediate area around the radius of effect was a grievously wounded Lelouch Lamperouge, having returned to his normal form and wondering what the hell had just happened, lying collapsed a few dozen meters from the rim of a gaping hole in the middle of the settlement, with the Kaleidostick feebly clutched in his fingers—

_Meow._

—and a black cat with strange red eyes padding out of the shadows to nuzzle his face with a plaintive "meow."

'_You are...from the dream?' _was the prince's last thought, before everything went black.

* * *

**Saitama Ghetto**

For a few moments, a_gony _was all Mana knew of the world as the blood of a Dead Apostle was poured into her, where it corroded, burned, seared at her flesh in an attempt to transform her into one of _them. _All aroundwas the endless pitter-patter-pitter-pat of the rain, washing everything away, and the sounds of shuffling feet as vampiric ghouls waited for their master's command.

"Yes, you will be a fine prize—the first Burier to be captured in combat," the cold voice of Rolo Haliburton rang out from some distance away. "At last, the secrets of the Burial Agency will be mine—my Master will reward me richly, methinks."

'_Such a hateful voice,' _Mana thought to herself, _'Hateful hateful hateful. Like this blood. This foreign pollutant swimming in my body. Can I—AH—'_

In response to the pain, her body arched up, thudding back to the ground with a vicious splash, as what was left of her consciousness fought—

"It has been long enough now," the Dead Apostle intoned, as if taking pleasure in her struggle. "Stand up, my Servant."

At the sound of Rolo's command, some of the pain faded. Feeling and strength returned to Mana's still usable limbs, and she could finally raise herself from the ground.

"Now answer my questions," the Dead Apostle ordered, compelling her to obey by the power of blood. "How did you kill my familiars, Burier? And do you have any concealed conceptual weapons?"

"…I cut them apart with my knives, of course," Mana answered simply, an answer that was quite honest—but mentioned nothing of her eyes. "No, I do not possess any concealed conceptual weapons."

"Hmm…" Rolo said, satisfied with the reply for now, since those controlled by blood could not lie to him. And if she had no further conceptual weapons, there was no way she could harm him, meaning that it was time to look at the weapons she had dropped earlier. _'All the better to kill with, in the end…'_

The moment the Dead Apostle's back was turned, the Satsujinki looked down, concentrating what was left of her consciousness as she had never concentrated before.

'_Find the line, find the lines…yes…I can see it. The point of that…foreign substance.'_

Clutching at her stomach with the fingers of her still usable hand, she concentrated—stabbing a sharp fingernail into that point, jamming it into her body with force.

'_Kill…'_

And then, unobtrusively, Mana pulled her digit out, bloodless, as it hadn't cut any of her flesh—and slashed it across her dead left arm.

"What…" came a puzzled voice in the distance, as Rolo reached one of the knives and picked it up, examining it by passing magical energy through it. "This isn't a conceptual weapon…this is but a normal—"

_Splash-Thump!_

"—eh?" the Dead Apostle thought, whirling to see. "…a li—"

_Slice!_

Distracted by the sound of the tossed limb, Rolo nearly didn't notice the one-armed Satsujinki hurtling for him with breakneck speed, clawed fingers outstretched as distance shrank to nothing.

_Swish!_

Grunting, Mana's fingers slashed for the Apostle's point of death, but Rolo was faster, jumping backward immediately, his superhuman reflexes enhanced by his control over his temporal field as he evaded the death blow, his clawed hand countering, thrusting to pierce through her chest—

_Fsh!_

But it was dodged, as with a rustle of fabric, the Satsujinki twisted her body desperately, feeling the ripple of wind as the claw missed her by mere millimeters—

_Slash!_

And the Satsujinki traced a lightning-fast fingertip down through the air—where the Dead Apostle untouched arm had been a moment ago, only managing to slice off two fingers as Rolo pulled his arm back in shock.

"—but that's not possible," the vampire hissed, losing his composure as his black blood trickled out upon the ground. "Resisting? How? My blood was definitely mixed with your blood…so you should already be part of my body…! Could it be, someone else has control over you already…!?"

Mana made no response, conserving her strength for one purpose alone—to kill, with every nerve in her body recognizing the being in front of her as an enemy. If she had any energy left, it would be for that purpose alone—to destroy the target in front of her, her unearthly blue eyes glowing ominously in the darkness.

_Splash!_

Sensibly, the Dead Apostle retreated out of melee range, scooping up the Origin Gun he had dropped earlier. His movements were a blue, no, faster than a blur, as he brought his weapon to bear, and—

_Crack! Thunk!_

—missed, with the weapon falling to pieces in his hands, causing Rolo to twist about in disbelief, claws surging for—

_Thud!_

—apparently, the last second twist saved his life, as the arm that the Ryougi had maimed earlier now thudded away to the ground.

"What? Without a weapon…could it be your body is a conceptual weapon in itself?" Rolo hissed, trembling slightly at the sight of the inhumanly cold eyes that looked upon him as he kept trying to pull away, and _the Satsujinki kept up, slashing at him with her bare—_

_Clutch!_

Pushing his speed to his highest level of acceleration, the vampire ducked low and severed the Ryougi's remaining arm at the elbow—

_Thud! Wham!_

—receiving a violent kick in the crotch for his effort, causing the Dead Apostle to double over momentarily before he leapt away onto a building, out of melee range, his features distorting as he looked upon the face of the opponent that had managed to wound him so, cutting off one of his arms and maiming his remaining hand.

'_It is of no consequence,' _Rolo told himself as he winced in annoyance, willing time to reverse around his wounds, invoking the curse of restoration so that he could—nothing. Absolutely nothing happened, as the Dead Apostle stared at the severed arm in astonishment. 'W_ait…my arm…what? Why…why can't I regenerate?!'_

"What is this? What—did you—? Why—why does this severed part not regenerate?" the Dead Apostle hissed in disbelief. "How can such a ridiculous thing be occurring? You aren't a magus, and your weapons are gone, so how can you…?"

A deep, angry breath—as much as Rolo had ever showed in his life.

"Very well, I will recognize you as an obstacle to me…" the vampire said as he fell back, waving his familiars forward. "And so I will show you the futility of your pointless resistance!"

A hundred vampiric ghouls surged forward towards a badly wounded Mana, who was now reduced to trying to defend herself with powerful kicks and elbow-bones to the knots of death on the ghouls, far less efficient than using a knife—her body ripping into undead flesh with ease, as she was caught in a blood heat of sorts, a berserker trance focused completely on destruction, every part of her body ordering her to KILL KILL KILL.

'_It's cold, so very, very cold,' _Mana mused in a detached haze._ 'I have lost too much blood…my body is frigid and in pain. But…I am not screaming, as my body orders me forward_—_to use that energy to kill even faster.'_

Her spine hurt, blood trickled from her mouth and gut, spraying from the severed stump of her right arm—and yet, she continued to fight, refusing to lie down and die.

"Hyu hyu hyu!"

Narrowly slipping past the gauntlet of claws and teeth, the edge of her shoe dug into a corpse, sinking into a line visible to her eyes alone—knocking the head off.

Two delicate legs kicked the ground, a blur of bloodstained white, rushing towards the ghouls, the heel of her shoe passing through in an even cut from the right shoulder to the left hip of another corpse.

The ghouls kept emerging from the shadows, so as to protect their master, who stands back from a distance, watching as Mana struck again and again, taking more and more injuries as time went on, yet still managing to reduce a good number to ash without her blades—or arms.

High above, Rolo watched, incredulous at what he saw.

'_I would kill her myself, but confronting her directly is too much risk to my body. Instead, I shall have to settle for letting my ghouls overwhelm her, as no matter how powerful she is…she is only mortal, only…human.'_

_Thud! Crack! Rip! Fsh!_

Rolo began to feel the cold embrace of fear as this grim reaper approached, cutting a swath through his ghouls she sped towards him, radiating a killing intent greater than anything he had ever encountered, unheeding of her physical condition as she sought only to kill. Was _this _what a Burier was? An assassin even more deadly than those raised by the Geass Directorate?

True, the more she moved, the more she tired, blood pumping faster, faster, through a thousand scrapes and tears and wounds, but still, if he didn't do anything…

_Crumple!_

And then at last, with a splash, the Satsujinki went down, tackled from behind by two ghouls, with Rolo letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, as a ghoul climbed on top of the Ryougi, ready to deliver the finishing blow as—

_Crunch!_

—the sickening sound of bone breaking was heard—but not Mana's bones breaking, as a colorless distortion appeared in the air, twisting the ghoul apart into a mass of limbs and mere parts.

_Whump!_

Another distortion, as the remainder of the corpses clustered around the fallen Satsujinki _popped, _twisted like corkscrews as a distant presence gestured sharply, mouth shaping the word _'Bend.'_

At the sight of this, Rolo remembered one small detail just a tad too late—that Agents of the Burial Agency, with the exception of the Seventh, never worked alone, that they always had a partner somewhere nearby.

_Whump!_

And then the 'other' found him, as a distortion surrounded his remaining arms and legs, applying force to twisting it as he sped away into the night at full speed, disappearing from vision—

'_**Quad Accelerando!' **he invoked...but nothing happened. '__Wait…what? My circuits? My magic circuits were damaged…but how is this possible? How could a mere human—?__**'**_

—shuddering, he fled, with all the speed available to him as a Dead Apostle, his trump card gone.

'_Master V.V. will not be pleased…we will need to step up our plans against the Euro Universe to prevent the Burial Agency from intervening further…and I will need to acquire a new arm, preferably from a young, fresh victim...'_

In the aftermath, a figure clad in simple black vestments slowly stepped into the scene, red and green pupils glowing in the darkness as she surveyed her surroundings, looking even through the buildings for any sign of a threat, with anything that got in her way torn apart as if twisted by a vise.

Seeing nothing further, the enigmatic figure nodded once, as a figure looking almost like an older version of Mana emerged onto the scene of carnage, stepping quickly to the fallen Satsujinki's side.

"…Mana?" a soft, disbelieving voice spoke, drawing in a sharp breath as the older doppelganger caught sight of the wounded assassin's face—and eyes. "Is that…?"

Blinking at the sound of her name, the Satsujinki looked up, the mystic power fading from her eyes as—

"Azaka?" Mana croaked in recognition, before her eyes flickered over to another familiar figure. "And…you are…Asagami's…"

With that, the Satsujinki passed out from the strain of battle, with Azaka hurriedly tearing strips from her dress to make into makeshift bandages to bind some of her niece's wounds.

"The Britannians took so much from all of us—I'm not about to let her take Mana too," the flame magus whispered, shaking her head. "Especially after knowing everything she went through after the bombing…"

The stately woman behind her merely looked upon the scene with a raised eyebrow, keeping watch with some rather conflicted feelings, suddenly reminded of a night almost seventeen years ago, when it had been she who was lying helpless in the rain.

"When Touko sent us to find what was dealing with the Dead, I didn't think we would find a Satsujinki at the end of the trail," commented Asagami Fujino to the one beside her. "So the daughter follows in the steps of the mother, I see… becoming a killer…"

"I wonder…how much she knows of our world," Azaka said softly, blue eyes hardened by the many years of living in hiding and subterfuge. "Touko said she was travelling with a Sorceress, but…"

"I understand," Asagami nodded. "You wonder because she's all that's left of your late brother…come, let's go. Touko might be able to help her…since at the very least, she will need some replacement limbs."

"Hmph…for Nii-san's child, she's turning out to be just like Shiki…"

* * *

**Viceroy's Palace, Tokyo Settlement**

Luciano Bradley shot upright in his bed screaming at the sensation of his body being torn apart, reduced to nothingness by a strange power—and an even stranger "Mirage Knight" who had claimed to be the true Zero, servant of some Black Princess of the Eclipse.

'_A killer…just like me, destroying everything but the small sliver of life energy I had invested into this duplicate. And had I not left a small part of my astral body behind in this chamber in case I was needed…I would have been killed by that abomination. Hmm, all is not lost, however…tonight's incident will be passed off as a terrorist attack, giving me the justification to massacre several ghettos. After today, having lost all the power I accumulated, I will need to feed…'_

Pained laughter spilled out of the private sanctum of the Governor General as rage filled his mind, as he intended to soon have his revenge…

* * *

**A/N**: The first round of fighting is over, the results—decidedly not favorable to our dear protagonists, though things aren't completely bad either. Bradley has lost almost all his stock of mana, reduced to a sliver of himself, and Rolo has lost an arm (and most of a hand)—as well as had his Magic Circuits killed. Still, things are rather dark at the moment, as we move on, and the gears and cogs set in motion continue to whirl…


	13. Crimson Air

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Undisclosed Location**

By almost any measure, the magus called Lelouch Lamperouge could be regarded as a man who craved knowledge in the belief that said knowledge was the key to altering his course, charting his own destiny. To accept anything else meant simply to be a powerless corpse pretending to be alive, resigning oneself to the whims of fate like a mere piece of flotsam upon the silver sea. Thus, the exile had accepted a contract with the mysterious Grey Witch in the midst of a sea of death, a pact inviolable under the dictates of Gaia itself, awakening the part of him that was a _magus._

'_Open your magic circuit, and picture the flow…for images are magic, born of thought, experience and imagination, tying together the world and the self—to understand this is power, and it will become glorious…'_

And yet…at the moment, the outcast prince of Britannia did not feel particularly glorious. Instead, he found himself drifting through an endless void, a place of where light, darkness, sound and all else did not matter. Even time was meaningless in this expanse, where the ground had fallen out from under him, his body but a powerless husk caught in an ocean's tides, tired, confused, and…rather overwhelmed, with his mind faring little better, as a rushing torrent of images and memories bombarded his senses —strange, impossible, conflicting, but very, very _real._

Or so his instincts insisted, at least, faithfully recording as truth each of the scenarios described in his mind.

'_Where am I? How did I get here?' _the exile wondered, his thoughts muddled as his normally agile mind found itself awkwardly groping for a foothold on reality in this strange place between possibilities._ 'And what exactly happened after I activated the Kaleidostick?'_

All Lelouch knew for absolute fact was that he had gone to confront the false Zero, and that circumstances had forced him to resort to the powerful magical artifact that Milly had given him before the mission. Beyond that, his memory betrayed him—not in the usual sense of post-trauma amnesia (which the outcast prince would have very grudgingly accepted), but in being too complete, as he remembered experiencing _every single possible outcome_ of the battle. In exquisitely painful detail—and all at once, to boot.

'_But that's impossible…all of those could not have happened, since the occurrence of one would preclude the possibility of the others.'_

It was as if his memories were looking out upon an infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities—literally countless branching outcomes of the events leading up to now, all experienced in parallel in something like an endless recursion of time.

'_Well, not quite countless,'_ the magus reasoned, as many of the recollected scenarios had been very similar to one another, differing only in extremely minor details that made no real difference. _'Thus, by eliminating the extraneous scenarios, I can reduce the possibilities to 15,498 significant variations, some of which I used the Kaleidostick in….'_

Yet, the events had been somewhat different in every iteration. For example, in several variations, activation of the Kaleidostick had not granted him the knowledge and power of "Mirage Knight Zero", but "Magical Meido Miracle Luluko", "RoaZERO", or "Lelouch the Combat Butler." In about a thousand scenarios, he had to confront his nemesis alone. In about several hundred of them, he had been accompanied by Mana, whose knife had cut down the shadow creatures as quickly as they could spawn. In some, only Milly had come with him. In a handful, only Kallen had come, and without the benefit of Milly's wind magecraft as fire support, had quickly been killed. In two or three, the Dead Apostle had ambushed them in conjunction with the false Zero. And in one very odd scenario, the entire city had simply been destroyed in an explosion of blue, to the accompaniment of a feminine cry of "sugoi sugoi!"

And so each had diverged and played out—with the unfortunate caveat of over nine thousand variants ending in his death via excruciatingly painful ways, failures that had been imprinted, no, engraved into his flesh and mind quite vividly, so that he could recall being decapitated, crushed, eaten alive, torn to shreds, vaporized, having his chest blown apart, melted from the outside, and so forth, evoking a sense of stricken helplessness and horror from the magus as he had seen just how many times things had gone wrong, seen—and felt—himself being killed again and again and again.

One event, a mere sliver of infinity, really…and already, it was overwhelming.

A more philosophical (or perhaps religious) soul than the Lamperouge magus might have wondered whether or not this meant he was stuck in some sort of purgatory, repeating the events of the battle in an infinite loop like some space-time program gone haywire, or whether he was stuck in some state between life or death—but since he was not, instead being relentlessly practical, he dismissed these possibilities for now, as given that he was able to think about them, he must still be alive—or so he hoped.

'_If not, then this entire line of thought has been an exercise in futility—something that I am not willing to admit to quite yet. After all, if I die before I accomplish my task, then…'_

…his life would have been meaningless, and to a man with an ego the size of Leouch's, that was utterly unacceptable. Thus, like the master strategist that he claimed to be (and was, when fate didn't deign to use him as a chew toy), the exile began to hunt for patterns amidst the chaos, sifting through the plethora of new memories he had somehow acquired for variables that tied everything together. Hardly the most pleasant task, given that it meant reliving some rather grisly…or embarrassing moments in exquisite detail, with him wincing or raising a nearly incredulous eyebrow at having to re-experience some of the things he had done under the Kaleidostick's influence—with a special, special brand of hatred reserved for those iterations where he had apparently gained the ability to fire a "Luluko Beam" from his eyes, or a rainbow hued "Fabulous Zero Surge" attacks from his _entire body_.

It was, in two words, traumatically mortifying.

'…_I did _that_?_' the magus thought to himself, horrified and wanting nothing more than sulk—as he tended to do after extreme embarrassment. Still, he supposed that that was what he deserved for needing to rely on a magical artifact instead of his own abilities—a reminder that nothing came without cost. Not knowledge, not time, and certainly not power. _'It simply means I will need more training than I thought—though whoever created that damned thing had a very perverse sense of humor, since every time, i—'_

And then it hit him: in every scenario in which he had survived, the Kaleidostick had come into play, apparently granting him the knowledge of an alternate—

'…_that's it…' _Lelouch realized, eyes wide as a chill ran down his spine._ 'Alternates. These memories are all possibilities, things that might have happened to me in the battle—revealed through the Kaleidostick. But shouldn't the battle be over now?'_

Leaving the question of why he was still synchronized with the Kaleidostick and which memory was the "real" one…

'_Perhaps it is my brand of magecraft at work again, and this time instead of the Kaleidostick possessing me, it is I who possess the artifact? That would certainly be an interesting turn of events…and if that is the case, I should be able to withdraw back to my own body, right? After all, it is through my Magic Circuits that this knowledge and whatnot is fed, so…'_

Taking a deep breath and questioning why he didn't think of this sooner, the magus willed himself back to his body, straining as—

_Plick!_

It was then that the poor magus was jolted by an unpleasant ripple in the void, as if the world around him were thrashing, heaving, about to burst—

_Cra—ack!_

—tearing itself apart with the cacophonous din of something like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard or fabric ripping at the seams, cracks, rips, traceries of light sprouting in the darkness, running running running through the void—

_Blink!_

—as everything shattered, and everything reformed.

'_Five gates revolving. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.'_

By now, reciting the shut-down aria for his Magic Circuits was something Lelouch Lamperouge was able to do automatically, and so with that, the magus returned to his body, opening his eyes to find himself on his feet, standing in the midst of a foggy, snow-covered plain, dressed in his Zero costume—but no mask, which oddly enough, made him feel almost naked.

'_Eh? Where am I? I know I returned to my body, but—what's going on? As far as I recall, Area 11's weather is not like this…and I know that I wasn't wearing my Zero outfit before—'_

_Clip-clip-clip!_

At the sound of steadily approaching footsteps, Lelouch tensed, tightly gripping the collapsible staff in his hand, preparing to extend it with a quiet _snap-hiss_ as he looked about, ready to—

_Whir! Whirr! Whirr!_

Faster than he could react in these low visibility conditions, six streaks of silver blasted down from on high with feral sounding hisses as—

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

—they plunged into the ground around him with light blazing between them to form a circle of binding runes that left the exile paralyzed, unable to consciously move either his body or the weapon in his hand. Even attempting to speak or activate his circuits failed, leading to a very chilling realization—

'_I've been trapped by a powerful magus, with a spell that has rendered me completely helpless, removing all ability to resist—even the Unified Language cannot help me, as I would need to speak to use it…' _he thought to himself. _'But seeing as I wasn't instantly killed, only disabled, maybe the other isn't completely hostile towards…'_

His thoughts trailed off as a rather familiar figure slinked out of the swirling mists: the mysterious Grey Witch, dressed in a bone-white kimono, wielding six thin swords with strange hilts (three in each hand, held between the fingers) as her cold amber eyes turned intently upon the young magus, the only things readable in them being irritation and—was that a bit of surprise?

"Lelouch? Why are…no, never mind, I can guess," the Grey Witch remarked, shaking her head as she glanced around once, looking for _something_, before, apparently satisfied, she dematerialized her blades, and the spell circle with it—restoring the Lamperouge magus' ability to move and talk.

With an unconscious sigh of relief, Lelouch sagged ever so slightly as sensation rushed back to his limbs, though he stiffened on noting the Witch's somewhat wary state.

"Oh, care to enlighten me on the situation?" the raven-haired prince inquired solicitously, watching the Sorceress for any trace of a reaction. "After all, after having apparently possessed the Kaleidostick, I somehow ended up here…and I doubt it's your doing from your reaction."

The exile heard the immortal mutter something mostly unintelligible but distinctly unflattering under her breath about meddlesome old pranksters and something about a kaleidoscope, before she deigned to answer his question.

"I suppose that…an old friend…wanted to let me know that you survived your battle,_ Mirage Knight Zero-chan,_" the First Magician said at last, giving the magus a half-glare that made him wince in discomfort (though more than a little of that might be due to the utter nightmare of the Kaleidostick's choice of alternate persona to give him). "Which is more than I can say for several blocks around the Britannian Victory Memorial Center…and this from the man who recommended subtlety?"

Another wince, as on that count, he was guilty as charged. Still, the bits of data in those remarks did help reduce the number of possibilities down to about 25 or so. And given that C.C. knew about that—and probably knew more about the rest than she let on…

"You…have a point," Lelouch admitted grudgingly. Still, in half of the scenarios in which he had become the Mirage Knight, his allies had not survived, so…

"You're worried about your precious Q-1 and the Ashford heir, aren't you?" the Grey Witch asked, a question that really wasn't much of a question at all. "From what I saw within the barrier, they survived as well, managing to leave the scene afterwards."

The exile was actually rather relieved to hear this, as Milly was, after all, one of his few friends—and losing Kallen at this stage in the game would be…rather inconvenient, since she _was_ his link to the resistance cells in the area. And at last, he had the information to determine the true scenario out of the 15,498 in his mind…

'_Though I will necessarily have to reassess the tactical situation after this, considering that the government will likely order some sort of reprisal for what happened…'_

In that moment, the prospect of eventual victory seemed distant…

"…like a mirage," he found himself muttering.

"A mirage, is it?" the Sorceress repeated, raising an eyebrow and allowing allowed herself to smirk ever so slightly, calling out to the air around them. "In that case… do you wish to show yourself, Ren? Given our long acquaintance, I have become rather familiar with illusions of your making…"

In response, space distorted, with a patch of air between them taking on a mirror smooth sheen, from which emerged a small girl, clad in a black dress and winter coat, with a great black bow in her hair, nodding to the Grey Witch politely, hands clasped demurely before her.

'_Eh…is that…the girl I saw herding cats in the park?'_

The Lamperouge magus blinked in surprise, at the sight of this eerily familiar individual—and more so, at the sight of her vivid red eyes—eyes that, like the Witch's, seemed almost ageless, looking through him and finding him wanting.

"I take it the old prankster detected the activation of the Kaleidostick and sent you to investigate?" C.C. inquired, almost seeming amused.

"…" was the response of the black-clad girl, who simply nodded solemnly, since she was somewhat more reserved than her white-clad counterpart.

"Hmph, as expected of him, since he would have to see who or what was tapping into the power of that vein of magecraft," the Grey Witch murmured, shaking her head ever so slightly. "Then I presume that my contractor is currently in your keeping…or his?"

"…"

Once more, utter silence was the young girl's reply, though she did nod once in confirmation, all the while continuing to look at the Grey Witch, as if willing the immortal to understand more than she was saying.

"…you know, sometimes I prefer working with the you from the other side of the mirror," C.C. remarked dryly, earning her an annoyed glare from the black-clad girl. "What? At least she talks."

"…"

While Lelouch might not be the most tactful person in the world, or the most sensitive, even he could sense the danger in interrupting the staring contest between crimson and amber eyes, as an immortal Witch and a succubus glowered at one another—but only for a moment, before C.C. broke off, chuckling softly instead.

"…well, I suppose you have a point, she _is_ rather willful, isn't she?" the First Magician conceded, the first time that Lelouch had seen her make any concession at all. "Not unlike my contractor…"

"…"

Another meaningful silence, as the exile caught onto the fact that there was a strange conversation of sorts occurring that he did not quite understand. Was it some sort of telepathy? Something else entirely? Or did the two just know each other that well?

"Really? He reminds you of a younger Einnashe?" There was something of a surprised undertone to the Sorceress' voice now, her gaze flickering between her contractor and the somewhat catlike Ren. "Well, granted, you would know Einnashe as well as I, and Lamperouge magus' specialty is—"

"…"

"…he possessed the Kaleidostick?" the Witch inquired, both of her eyebrows shooting skyward in shock for a brief moment before settling back to their original position, moment, as she had not expected to hear _that. _If this was the case, then it was possible that the Lamperouge magus' ability was stronger than she had originally thought, and… "Yes, I see how that might interest the old man, since it's usually the other way around…"

The Sorceress trailed off at that, and seeing the momentary calm that had fallen over the field, Lelouch decided that this was probably his best opportunity to probe for more information about the situation, since obviously he was not in control here.

"An old man, you say?" the outcast prince repeated, lips twisting with some distaste at the very thought of the Kaleidostick, though he did admit to being intrigued as to what kind of mind could have devised that nefarious device. "Then I take it that you were not the original creator of that…artifact?"

C.C.'s response was an amused and somewhat throaty chuckle.

"Oh, if my guess is right, you'll find out about that soon enough, Lelouch," the immortal replied airily, turning back to the black-clad girl. "Isn't that right, Ren?"

"…"

A simple nod, since the succubus familiar preferred simplicity, leaving grandiose speeches or large acts of mischief to the Wizard Marshal in whose care she was entrusted.

"Well, well, L.L…it's time to go," the ever enigmatic Sorceress said at last, lips quirked down in a slight frown. "Messes need to be dealt with, and it is about time you woke up. If you wouldn't mind, Ren?"

A quiet nod from the blue-haired girl, as once again, the magus was gripped by a lurching sensation, feeling like the ground had slid out from under him, with the world fading fading fading, with Lelouch's eyes shooting open to reveal—

'_An unfamiliar ceiling…'_

At least, that was the only detail he had time to notice before a surge of agony seared through each and every one of his nerves, as though his flesh was being flayed from his bones by a spray of corrosive acid, bubbling, melting, hissing, unnatural heat surging outward and back from a point in his chest, as his nerves went haywire, vision flashing white for a moment—before the pain receded, ebbing away to a more bearable level, leaving the magus feeling…not quite dead.

After an indeterminate period of time, when the exile was feeling…somewhat human again, the magus managed to sit up slowly in bed, studying his surroundings. As he suspected, it was a very unfamiliar place—not his room, not a room down in the underground levels of Ashford, and certainly not anything from his past.

Then again, he wasn't exactly sure if it was a room at all, rather than a clearing, given that there was nothing he could readily recognize as building material, with surroundings seeming to be made of woven light, with thousands upon thousands of images flickering past in silence, which upon closer look were the memories that had been poured into his head some time ago.

'_Alternates…an infinite kaleidoscope of them…it is _almost _humbling to know how badly I could have failed…'_

Almost being the operative word, since a measure of arrogance and pride was almost required for members of the Britannian royal family (even exiled, presumed dead members of the Britannian royal family living as commoners – with very few exceptions). It was part of the reason that they, as a general rule, made powerful magi, because they had…confidence in their abilities.

Thus was Lelouch Lamperouge able to suppress his pain enough to look down at himself, finding that he was…at the mercy of the elements, as the old saying went (or stark naked, if one prefers), save for the sheets covering him up to the waist and the bandages wrapped around his torso.

'_Hmm, I suppose someone must have found me after the battle—likely one of the Witch's other associates. C.C. mentioned the girl, but I only remember the…'_

The cat that was curled up next to his pillow, with red eyes, a black ribbon about its neck, and two cottonball ornaments, just like—

'_The girl…could she be—'_

But he was interrupted by an audible 'pop' as a seated figure appeared at his bedside—a grizzled man in black and silver tunic and trousers, a cloak draped over his shoulders, with a barest hint of a twinkle in his eye as he laid eyes upon the wounded magus – a figure known to as the immortal Sorcerer Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg, master of the Second Magic.

"Good to see that you have finally awakened, Lelouch Lamperouge…" the man's voice rumbled in a pleasant enough bass. "…or would that be Lelouch vi Britannia, former Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire?"

Said prince stiffened, bolting upright as he ran through possibilities for how he might defend himself, given the incredibly bad situation he found himself in—or for who this figure might be, given that the exile didn't recognize him.

"No, you wouldn't recognize me," the man preempted anything that the magus might have said. "This is the first time we've met—in this reality anyway. There are a number of others where you and I are better acquainted—or where you learned my magic instead of becoming the Kaleidostick's latest vic—user. "

"You are the creator of the Kaleidostick then?" Lelouch asked, raising an eyebrow as he studied the man, sensing an aura of agelessness akin to that he felt from C.C.—albeit stranger.

"That which bestows upon its user abilities from an alternate self, yes," Zelretch replied diffidently, wearing a hint of a smirk. "Though what you saw in the aftermath was much closer to what I see all the time, an infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities, constantly changing, always uncertain. But since you have awakened, and the First was kind enough to send you to me, Magus Lamperouge…we have much to discuss."

The black cat's only contribution to the discussion was a simple _meow._

* * *

**V.V.'s Atelier, Pendragon Imperial Palace**

In the center of a vast cavern concealed hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, the eternally young V.V. sat upon his granite throne, rather displeased with what he had seen of Luciano Bradley's confrontation with the rogue magi in the Tokyo Settlement—one that had demonstrated the scale of the forces arrayed against him.

'_That three magi managed to defeat a powerful Ghost Liner glutted on the souls of hundreds…that is a troubling proposition,' _the master of the Third Magic ruminated, though he had been unable to place the identities of the meddling magi. _'A fire magus, a wind magus—possibly a noble…and worst of all is this "Mirage Knight," one who identified herself as a knight of the "Eclipse Princess of Black Blood." A title that I have not heard before, but perhaps another name for the infuriating Witch who some call the "Visitation of Woe" and "Harbinger of Chaos"?'_

Thankfully, the Vampire of Britannia had survived the battle (as it would be difficult to find another fool as easy to manipulate as he was—and the loss of a second Governor General would be somewhat bad for morale), but the more pressing issue was the identity of the resistance magi. Given the recent declaration of martial law and how ruthlessly his magus killers had tried to hunt down any Elevens capable of using magecraft, V.V. doubted that those who had attacked at Tokyo Tower had been of that benighted race—all the more so since Onmyoudou had not been used, and both the wind and fire magi had apparently attended the gala event open only to the nobility.

'_Which means that discrete inquiries will need to be made as to which nobles attended and which did not, as anyone on the guest list is a possible suspect—particularly if those families have harbored magi in the past. Perhaps I will have the Knight of Six investigate the matter, perhaps in an undercover role, or taking direct command of the magus killers? That _would_ give her more mobility and resources to work with than Haliburton, since Dead Apostles are limited to nighttime activity…but less visibility than the Knight of Ten…'_

In wake of recent events, the immortal was fast realizing that his standard magus killers were proving less than entirely reliable when left on their own, as none had appeared at the scene of the great battle. While they might not have made a great difference against the Mirage Knight, they _would_ have been able to eliminate that fell magus' allies—so obviously, he would need to dispatch his familiar to coordinate their efforts.

He was tempted to simply issue the relevant orders to his familiar—but decided to wait, given that his faithful servant Rolo Haliburton, useful tool of killing that he was, apparently wished to speak to him directly, as the Dead Apostle felt that what he had to say could not be conveyed merely through the written word.

'_Well then, we may as well begin…'_

At that, the immortal stood, his glowing white and gold vestments etched with spell sigils, rustling as he raised his hands, and reached with his mind towards that of his servant's, with a faint little buzz indicating a successful connection, as ether condensed from the air into the form of a young, purple-eyed boy, who knelt before the Sorcerer he served.

"Greetings, master V.V.," the young Rolo Haliburton spoke deferentially, taking care to keep a submissive posture. "Thank you for granting me an audience on such short notice."

"Of course, my Dead Apostle," the immortal Sorcerer murmured, his voice filled with his usual malevolent calm. "So, what is the pressing matter, my assassin?"

"The Burial Agency," was the vampire's terse reply, one that caused the enfant terrible to freeze in place, a murderous expression to flash across his usually serene face.

For the barest of instants, there was silence so absolute that even the vacuum of space could not compare. And in that silence…

"What…did…you…say…?" the master of the Third Magic intoned, a dangerous edge lining his soft and normally reasonable voice, drawing out his words for emphasis. "Did I hear, the 'Burial Agency'?"

Having been one of V.V.'s servants for quite a few years now, Rolo knew that it was best to be the very image of humility and deference, given that his immortal master, like himself, was a manipulative being without moral governors, a vicious little sociopath willing to do anything to achieve his goal – but considerably more powerful.

"Yes, my master," the Dead Apostle answered, "While carrying out operations in Area 11, I was set upon by two of their members—a long range attacker and a melee specialist—a killer who used a set of knives, and one who struck from range with a space distorting ability."

"And I presume that you managed to defeat both," V.V. stated bluntly. "Gaining insight into that highly secretive organization…am I correct, Rolo Haliburton?"

There was a moment's hesitation that the immortal Sorcerer did not miss.

"Not…exactly, milord V.V.," Rolo replied, accompanied by a movement that drew attention to his severed arm. "I was able to critically injure the knife-wielder, but…"

"You, the most skilled assassin of the Geass Directorate, were forced to retreat?" the Sorcerer hissed incredulously, eyes angry enough to kill. "You who were gifted with innate time control, the greatest of trump cards, did not even manage to disable the other? And why have you not regenerated?"

"Regrettably so, my master," the vampiric assassin answered evenly, though he twitched ever-so-slightly at the mention of his lack of regeneration. "However, given that our opponents are presumably of the Burial Agency, they have been known to use demons and other heretics in their fanatical quest to eliminate Dead Apostles—as well as conceptual weapons or forbidden techniques. Indeed, in previous clashes, some of our other agents have reported that they are capable of matching a Dead Apostle in combat…"

"Yes, this is so. How very…intriguing," intoned V.V.'s soft, melodic voice as the young immortal frowned, narrowing his eyes. "So the Euro Universe has decided to intervene in our affairs in Area 11, using the elite assassins of the Burial Agency to undermine us? Well, well…I cannot deny that I have been awaiting an opportunity to remove that thorn in my side. But…"

The Sorcerer trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he thought back to an incident some time ago, when one of his teams of specialists had failed to capture the Asagami heir or confirm a successful kill.

"You mentioned a space distorting ability," the master of the Third Magic recalled, turning away from his servant. "Tell me, Rolo Haliburton, do you believe this to be magecraft? A demonic ability? Or perhaps that this could be connected with the vanished Asagami…?"

Rolo reasoned to himself that if it were, this would not be his fault, since the Asagami had indeed vanished, eliminating the team sent after her some time ago.

"I suppose the last is possible, but unlikely. From what I am aware of the Asagami family's abilities, they once possessed some level of telekinesis, but any significant power in them died out a generation ago," the Dead Apostle answered, mentally reviewing the information he had been briefed with regarding the four families involved in the Demon Hunter Organization. "Certainly, the last Asagami would not be strong enough to wipe out a pack of ghouls...and members of the Burial Agency are not known to cooperate with members of foreign demon hunter groups."

"A most valid point," came the sibilant reply from the vampire's immortal master. "Unless the Burial Agency already absorbed the remaining members of the Demon Hunter Organization—perhaps under the advice of…_that Witch. _If there is a full scale operation in play by that Agency, then I am not surprised that mere magus killers have been ineffective."

"This is so, master," Rolo noted, already thinking about what might be necessary. "May I ask if you plan on…returning the favor, as it were? There are a number of other assassins at the Geass Directorate who might prove…useful in this regard."

"Indeed," V.V. rumbled, turning back to face his vampiric servant. "That will certainly be done, though given that they have chosen to make Area 11 a battleground instead of remaining at home, there must be something that they find worth protecting. The Puppet Master, perhaps?"

"Perhaps so, milord," Rolo affirmed, admitting that it was a distinct possibility. "It is no secret that they have collaborated with that Witch once or twice before in their history…and some have suspected that it was an organization set up specifically to oppose the Geass Directorate. Still…"

"I see…tell me, Rolo, what is your take on the damage done to the settlement?" V.V. inquired, asking for the opinion of his agent. "While the destruction of the noble families provides a useful pretext upon which to carry out the necessary bloodshed for the next phase of our operation—"

"—it is troublesome that beings of such power operate with impunity, yes," the vampire concurred, tilting his head in thought. "Now that the Ghost Liner has confirmed their existence, we will need to hunt them down and eliminate them."

A slow nod from the Third Magician.

"Just so…as is your continued task, my assassin," the eternally young twin of Charles zi Britannia said after a moment, eyes flashing in the darkness. "I trust you will not fail me."

"Your will be done, master," the Dead Apostle acknowledged one last time, his visage fading as the ether clump that had served as his double dispersed, and the connection was cut.

Considering the information he had been given and his own personal suspicions, V.V. knew just what to do next.

"A.A.," the eternally young boy called out into the darkness, his lips curling up into a sadistic smile at the thought of what was to come. "I have an assignment for you."

Out of the shadows shuffled a slim pink-haired figure dressed in the mantle of a Knight of the Round, the demon familiar that V.V. had crafted on a whim eight years ago, using the captured soul of an assassinated enemy and the corpse of Anya Alstreim, the young girl that had been the only witness to his crime. She was a useful enough puppet, able to wander through Pendragon without question or challenge, given her rank of Knight of Six, able to go where he could not, as he did not want his involvement with Britannian affairs known to any except his brother.

This young pink-haired demon familiar immediately knelt before the Third Magician, going down on one knee.

"What is thy bidding, my master?" she asked in an emotionless monotone. "I presume you have a task for me?"

"Yes…please inform Charles that it has become necessary to wage war against the Euro Universe, for the suppression of the Burial Agency and the Sea of Estray," V.V. commanded, circling behind his throne and retrieving a sheathed curved sword. "Further, we will need to continue our campaign against the Middle Eastern Federation, where Atlas continues to resist us. Have the Knights of Nine and Twelve and their personal forces dispatched to reinforce our troops in the EU, as these rogue organizations must be brought under the Clock Tower's control, that the project may proceed unhindered."

"As you wish, V.V.," Anya replied, nodding in acquiescence. "Will there be anything further, master?"

"Rise, my familiar," the Third Magician said with a dark chuckle of amusement, as he handed the curved weapon to his familiar. "After that, you are to report to Area 11 to further investigate the recent incidents – particularly if the Ashford family is involved, as some of their members have been magi in the past. Perhaps becoming a student might help?"

"Understood," the Knight of Six acknowledged, taking the blade. "Equipment and support?"

"You have access to the irregulars in Area 11, as well as this weapon," V.V. answered with a grim smile that did not reach his eyes. "This is Harpe—"

"…the Gorgon-slayer…"

"—an ancient Noble Phantasm possessing the power of "Refraction of Longevity", nullifying the regenerative abilities of an immortal," the Sorcerer intoned. "If you should encounter the Witch—kill her."

"It will be done," came the emotionless monotone, as Anya bowed deeply and walked out of sight.

Once she was gone, V.V. allowed himself to laugh deeply and darkly at the thought of what was to come.

'_Excellent…aside from Rolo's mishap, all is still going according to plan. And if what remains of _that woman_ is what kills the Witch, then all the better…irony is such a delicious thing…'_

* * *

**Touko Aozaki's Atelier **

In the midst of a utilitarian room of steel-grey and white filled from top to bottom with human sized puppets and associated parts, the Puppet Master named Touko Aozaki shook her head, looking at a comatose figure on the operating table in the center of her workshop—the last Ryougi, whose chest rose and fell as she slept on, with tools and bits of equipment scattered around her, seeming almost delicate as she slept, without a trace of the strength she had when waking.

"Touko, will she be…" the worn Azaka Kokutou asked worriedly, looking with concern at her unconscious niece. After discovering the fallen Satsujinki and having Fujino intervene to save the girl's life, the fire magus had taken Mana back to Touko's workshop with all due speed in the hope that the Aozaki could help the girl with her wounds. After all, the Ryougi was all that was left of her brother Mikiya, who she had loved more than anything else in the world…

"She'll live," Touko Aozaki said blandly, brushing a stray wisp of hair from where it had fallen across her eyes, scowling when she realized that she had left her cigarettes back in her office. "I managed to stabilize her condition and heal the worst of her injuries, but…"

"…whether she wakes is up to her," Azaka concluded grimly, shaking her head. "And you wanted to wait until she was in a better condition before replacing her arms. Even if she managed to 'kill' the bleeding—just like her mother would have done."

"It's almost…ironic," Touko muttered. "Seventeen years ago, the mother spared Fujino. Now, Fujino saves the daughter…the cycle is complete…well, I suppose I will have to make her new arms suitable for her eyes—able to grab and interact with spirits."

"Touko…" Azaka asked quietly. "Who told you about the events in Saitama?"

A moment of silence or two.

"…a certain magic gunner that I would not hesitate to kill, though she did not mention a Satsujinki," the puppet master related, with just a hint of venom and disgust apparent in her voice. "Leave it to her to know about a power that could bring death to anything that lives. If she wasn't under the protection of the Old Man, I would…"

"Touko…?"

A sigh.

"Never mind, Azaka," the bespectacled woman sighed. "Since I seem to have been given most of the Ryougi family fortune, helping the heir is the least I can do…at least until…_she_ comes by to bring her to a certain Nanaya for training."

* * *

**Ashford Academy**

Morning was not a pleasant thing for any who had been involved in the happenings of last night, whether out in the ghettos, in the middle of the settlement, or even at Ashford Academy, where a certain blonde and redhead were unconscious from their exertions, having barely managed to reach an access point to the underground passages of the Academy before their energies gave out.

Soon after entering, however, they had been found by a certain Grey Witch, who had proceeded to take on the necessary burden of taking the two to the underground infirmary, where she had put the two of them into a healing trance, while giving them a small transfusion of mana, seeing as they were suffering from mana depletion (not that she blamed them, given the scale of the battle that had been fought).

'_Mana, as well, did not return, but my connection with her remains stable so I know she is not dead…'_ the immortal thought to herself, frowning ever so slightly as she retired to her own temporary quarters. _'However, her condition does seem similar to that of two years ago, when she was still comatose…'_

She would have sprung up and gone to search for her assassin already, save that the last thing C.C. had felt before the connection weakened was a surge of reassurance, and a single word: 'Azaka.'

'_Which likely means that Mana is currently in Touko's care…good. And Ren was kind enough to let me know that Lelouch was currently in her master's keeping.'_

Those bits of information, at least, were slightly reassuring compared to what was being broadcast over the airwaves now, as the plasma screen television in her quarters displayed the irate image of the Knight of Ten.

"—Zero and his terrorists have insulted the very name and power of Britannia by destroying the Britannian Victory Memorial Center and slaughtering the attendees of the gala, something that cannot—and WILL NOT be tolerated," the voice of the Vampire of Britannia boomed from the speakers. "Thus, as the Governor-General of Britannia, I now make good on my promise to utterly destroy those who support Zero and his crimes—to crush the ghettos that dare to harbor terrorists. In response to the terrorist attack, I have ordered reprisals: in two days time, the ghettos of Saitama, Shinjuku, and Chiyoda will be razed to the ground…and that is but the beginning. There will be no escape, there will be no forgiveness. The streets will run with the blood of Elevens, as they are made to pay for their crimes ten times over. All hail Britannia."

Shuddering with revulsion at the sound of this, C.C. turned to the open closet where she knew a second Zero costume was waiting, looking at the blank mask within…

'_I wonder…should I? Or…'_

With a terse nod, the immortal made up her mind, a tiny smirk crossing her lips as she projected a weapon into her hands.

'_A time for thought, a time for talk, a time for action. So you yet live, Vampire of Britannia...Ghost Liner that you may be, an unwitting but willing pawn in V.V.'s plan. In that case, shall we play a game?'_

_

* * *

A/N: _And the aftermath, as expected. Unfortunately, things get worse, and who knows what paths the future might take?


	14. Stray Lurker

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Undisclosed Location**

'…_where am I?'_

It was to that thought that Kaname Ohgi opened his eyes, waking from sleep to find himself on his feet, his legs moving mechanically as they carried him along a narrow, winding road running through an misty, overgrown forest towards some unknown destination, with the chill of a northern winter setting in as he went along, cold enough that the resistance member knew that he would freeze to death if he were to pause for too long.

'_And it doesn't seem I'm dressed for cold weather either…' _the former schoolteacher muttered silently, glancing over himself to find that he was clad in some manner of black and silver uniform, which he noted with ironic amusement seemed to be an inversion of the whites and golds that Britannian Knights were wont to wear. _'Almost as if to mark me as a black knight from out of a long ago fairy tale…'_

_Sch! Sch! Sch! Sch—t!_

Still, apparently his feet were attired appropriately, his weary soles protected from the elements by simple but functional combat boots like those used by armies the world over—something the veteran found himself rather thankful for, even in the gloom of night.

Or was it night? Ohgi found that he didn't know, since the only illumination was an eerie crimson glow that filtered through the branches at irregular intervals and intensities, seeming to paint the world with the color of fresh-spilled blood, evoking a sense of unease. It was, he thought, rather disturbing, as if he was walking through a grove of suicides…

'_A bad time to recall the levels of hell in Dante's Inferno…I don't think I died yet, unless the Britannians came to Chiyoda ahead of schedule and killed me in my sleep, and this is the afterlife…'_

The rebel leader shivered as he considered that last notion, as being killed in that manner would mean that everything he had lived and fought for was now rendered meaningless, since most of his friends would likely have fallen as well. But the former schoolteacher managed to put the thought out of his mind, concentrating more firmly on the here and now, on where this road might possibly be going, meandering to—

"Hm?"

All at once, the terrorist found himself standing in the midst of a white expanse, having emerged from the forest into a snow-covered clearing dotted with slate grey headstones, ringing a central cairn of sorts upon which burned an eternal flame, a tongue of fire paying silent tribute to someone or something, its flickering illumination casting long shadows only partially countered by the light of the crimson moon o'erhead.

'_A cemetery of some sort? But just who is buried here? And why am I here? Could this just be…a dream?'_

Ohgi dismissed that though, as his dreams were usually more straightforward, either recalling memories of better days, or envisioning a future in which he had truly failed his comrades, seeing their glassy-eyed corpses arrayed around him, lifeless eyes staring at him as if condemning him for his uselessness. He wasn't a good leader, and he knew it all too well, sighing and looking down at—

**Naoto Kozuki.**

—an uncovered grave marker, engraved with a single all-too familiar name that leapt out at him in the ruddy moonlight, causing his eyes to widen in shock.

'_What…? But Naoto was never buried—there isn't even a memorial stone for him, since he was blown apart by a grenade…so how…'_

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), before he could spend any significant amount of time pondering the impossibility of this place—

_Tramp! Tramp! Tramp_!

—the sound of approaching footsteps made the rebel tense, instantly on guard as he looked up warily to see five other shadowed figures drawing near the flame, each clad in black and silver uniforms much like the one he wore.

Friends? Foes? Ohgi didn't know, and that made him—

_Blink. _

Once-twice-three times disbelievingly, as the unknown "others" stepped into the circle of firelight, revealing themselves to be—

"Tamaki? Sugiyama? Minami? Inoue? Yoshida?" Ohgi asked, unable to hide his surprise. "The five of your are here as well?"

—comrades from his resistance cell.

'_Or at least imposters who look like them…'_

Of course, that suspicion was immediately allayed when one of the figures proceeded to open his mouth, revealing (to everyone's relief—and annoyance) the overly loud and obnoxious voice that could belong to Shinichiro Tamaki, the man who in other worlds might have become a MMORPG player with a Leeroy Jenkins playstyle, but here, only wished to be a bureaucrat.

"Ohgi? What the hell? You're here too?" Tamaki asked, looking around. "What's going on? Where the hell are we?"

"Hell seems about right…" Sugiyama muttered under his dream, glancing back over his shoulder at the dark sea of trees surrounding the clearing, seeming to stretch out into infinity. "Can't be a dream, since there's no way Tamaki would never appear in them."

Minami, Inoue, and Yoshida, however, just remained silent for a time, thinking about the implications of the presence of the leadership of the rebel cell (sans Kallen) and the fact that their appearance was the first bit of (involuntary) visual solidarity the ragtag bunch of misfits had displayed since…well, since before he could remember.

"I don't know but I get the feeling that we may be about to find out," Inoue said at last, speaking up as she caught sight of another figure striding silently across the field of white to approach the resistance cell—a figure whose silhouette was instantly recognizable as the enigmatic figure who had last appeared to them on the night of the destruction of the Purist Faction.

"Huh? Why do you say…_it's him…!"_ Tamaki burst out, his last words a strangled hiss as he, too, found his attention drawn to a masked stranger dressed in an elegantly tailored ensemble that reminded him all-too-much of what high ranking Britannian noblemen might wear: a royal purple (almost black) coat and trousers with gold edging, over which was worn a reversible cape, with a blank mask concealing the figure's features, showing only a black oval faceplate to the world.

"…Zero," Ohgi breathed, taking an involuntary step backward as the shadowed one approached with a dry, but powerful chuckle, every movement radiating a sense of ageless grace and power.

"That I am. Very perceptive, Kaname Ohgi…and associates of course," the masked one spoke with a faintly amused voice, inclining the head in acknowledgement. "Hail and well met."

"Bringing us here was your doing then?" the leader of the resistance cell asked, giving the vigilante a slight bow, as he had when last they met. "And I take it that this is related to your promise to aid us in resisting Britannia?"

"I wonder," was all Zero intoned, as the masked revolutionary stepped full into the circle of light, throwing open his arms in a dramatic gesture at the surroundings in which the terrorists found themselves. "Look around you, Kaname Ohgi…what do you see?"

A heartbeat of time, perhaps two, as names, dates, images leapt into the former schoolteacher's mind.

"An impossible graveyard honoring each of our fallen comrades," Ohgi voiced, with the others looking on, strange expressions on their faces as they called to mind some of the ones they had lost. "Honoring the ones who have died to resist our oppressors…for a dream where Japan may one day be free once more. Each of their deaths…" He swallowed, gaze flitting to the lonely grave marker inscribed with Naoto's name. "…Each of their deaths reminds of why we must keep fighting, even in the face of such a foe."

"So you say," Zero's voice rumbled across the clearing, as the figure's cape settled once more about the revolutionary's form. "But the Holy Britannian Empire, be it neither Holy nor Britannian, will not fall to terrorism."

The raw venom and malice in that dark voice caused Ohgi to take a step backward, as he felt an overwhelming sense of power wash over him, radiating out from the masked form of Zero.

"Fall?" the former schoolteacher repeated blankly. That was something not even the most ambitious of rebels hoped to achieve—for Britannia was a foe that controlled over one-third of the world, and would likely soon control more, with its warmongering and bloodyminded ruthlessness backed by fanatical armies and the most advanced weapons in the world.

"Yes, fall," Zero intoned, taking a step forward as the others stepped back, sensing a killing intent that would be terrifying if directed at them—and only mildly discomforting when they knew it was not. "What the resistance has been doing up to now…the JLF, the Yamato Alliance, the other groups…to Britannia, it is little better than childish nuisance."

Of course, given that members of the resistance were used to voicing their mind, as opposed to Britannian lapdogs who simply obeyed orders, it was inevitable that one or another of them would take offense to that statement and speak his or her mind. The only surprise was that it was not Tamaki.

"What was that?" Sugiyama nearly snarled, restrained only by the feeling that any attempt to physically assault Zero would not end well. The man had stood in front of a squadron of Knightmares ready to shoot him without fear – not something one does unless one is either crazy or extremely confident in one's abilities. And given the outcome of the Britannian Army's last encounter with Zero…well. Still…some things could not be overlooked. "You're calling us a bunch of kids? You think this is a game?"

Behind the mask, the magic-user merely smirked.

"I do not," Zero denied quietly, looking to each of the resistance members in turn. "But Britannia does."

"Explain," Sugiyama tersely demanded, packing more meaning into that one word than Tamaki could into a string of expletives.

"Britannia does not care about its people, seeing them as pawns in its game of world domination—with any losses of civilians or non-essential personnel being necessary sacrifices for their final objectives," Zero stated bluntly, daring the others to disagree. "And considering that there are far more Britannians than resistance members…what have your efforts accomplished in the last seven years? How many political prisoners or comrades have you freed? How many cities have you liberated? How many of their leaders have you assassinated? How many of the Japanese are now free?"

Questions one after another, in a deceptively neutral tone, questions that caused the resistance members to flinch as the masked one continued.

"Tell me this, Kento Sugiyama," the vigilante inquired, turning to look directly at the one who had so rudely interrupted earlier. "How many victories has the resistance won? How many times has Britannia been forced to withdraw by a threat to its citizens? How many times have you shown yourselves a credible threat that Britannia must acknowledge? _Name one._"

Sugiyama opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then closed it once more—all without a word, as no response was easily forthcoming.

"Then what do you suggest we do, Zero?" Ohgi cut in, before things could get worse. "You did agree to help us after you organized the events behind Orange's Folly."

"Yes…but first, you must realize the nature of your enemy and how it may be defeated," the masked revolutionary intoned dramatically, looking up at the bloody moon overhead. "That to gain the freedom you so seek, you cannot settle for being a mere resistance movement—you must wage full on war with Britannia itself. You must confront your enemies and crush them, ruthlessly and utterly, until instead of pride, Britannia knows humiliation, instead of pleasure it knows suffering…instead of hope—absolute despair. Anything less is but meaningless exertion."

As a member of the Japanese resistance, Kaname Ohgi had suffered through many trials and tribulations over the last seven years, ranging from Tamaki's rash behavior (and ability to screw up the simplest of plans due to overestimation of his own capabilities), to the death of their original leader Naoto Kozuki (after which he had tried to act as Kallen's surrogate brother, with mixed results), from the constant encroachment of Britannian forces into the ghettos, to the constant fears of inadequacy and failure that ate away at his mind every moment of every day—fears reinforced to some extent each time one of his subordinates died, but most certainly in Shinjuku, where without the intervention of Zero, everyone in that ghetto would have died.

And now their enigmatic savior was telling him that a full on war to the knife with Britannia was necessary if Japan was ever to win its freedom—a prospect that intimidated the former schoolteacher to no end, as his comrades' eyes were all on him now, watching to see what he would do.

"Zero," Ohgi began, not wanting to deny the masked one's point, knowing too that he himself was not the man to lead such an endeavor. "I know you have a point, but…"

"Then join me," the masked vigilante intoned brusquely, extending a gloved hand to the rebel cell leader.

"What?"

"We share a common goal, you and I," Zero explained smoothly, almost hypnotically, blank stare fixing on the rebel leader for a moment, before shifting to the others gathered in the mystical graveyard. "You wish to see your people free from the oppressor's yoke…and I wish to obliterate Britannia. For all my power, I cannot accomplish this alone—and neither can you. Individually, as a simple vigilante and a resistance cell, we will fail—but together, if you will join me as my Black Knights, then I will forge you into a power unlike anything Britannia has ever seen, a force that will bring the strongest of nations to its knees—that will one day stand in judgment of this world!"

A powerful promise, that—and given who was making it and who it was to…it was incredibly attractive. The offer of victory from someone who had worked miracles, backed by hope, that greatest of all evils which prolongs the torments of men…irresistible.

Thus the outcome was already determined.

"So what say you, Kaname Ohgi?" the masked one asked, inclining his head once more. "Will you accept my command, as I entrust the fate of my plans to your hands? Follow the call of your deepest desires. If thou wouldst obey this mind and this reason, then…"

A moment's hesitation, and then a deep bow, before Ohgi lifted his head and clasped the outstretched arm, meeting Zero's…mask…with his eyes.

"I accept, Zero," the rebel replied quietly but firmly. "We, the Black Knights, are at your service."

A pleased "hmph" issued from behind the mask.

"Then our contract is complete," Zero intoned gravely, regarding his new subordinates with a measure of respect. "Our first task will be dealing with the onslaught upon the ghettos in a day—I will be in touch."

And with that, the world faded away into shadow and flame.

**

* * *

**

**Sinai Peninsula, Middle Eastern Federation**

In the aftermath of a grueling campaign, the battered figure of Cornelia li Britannia stood alone upon a sea of still cooling glass, in front of the smoking remnants of her personal Gloucester, her usually immaculate battle uniform flapping in the wind, edges torn and frayed as lightning danced around her form. And where her face and posture normally radiated complete, nigh-predatory confidence, all that was shown now was an impassive mask, beneath which one who knew her well might detect traces of frustration and barely suppressed rage as she surveyed her surroundings.

'_Damn them all…the Eltnams, the rogue magi of Atlas, and those miscreants of the Middle Eastern Federation for their futile resistance, forcing me to resort to drastic measures to suppress them,' _the Chief General of the Imperial Army fumed silently, her eyes falling upon the melted remnants of a certain auxiliary facility of Atlas smoldering in the distance. _'To create a wasteland and call it peace…'_

A brittle smile—almost a sneer, stole over her lips for a moment as she recalled the many unexpected problems that had arisen on what should have been a simple campaign to give the newer recruits more experience in an actual invasion, as well as acquire some staging areas to mount a later offensive against the Euro Universe.

'_I certainly did not expect the Middle Eastern Federation to have an experimental Knightmare of some variety that is at least on par with Gloucesters—it is likely that this was the work of Dust of Osiris, much like the massive dust storm which cloaked my enemies in its veil of sand, leading to the destruction of nearly a third of the forces dispatched to this region—destroying our morale in the process.'_

It wasn't supposed to be like this, with the body count rising with each day – including the death or capture of the Glaston Knights (though either would be bad for morale, and thus she had merely informed the other commanders that they were simply away on detached duty handling a mission of vital import), a loss which soured her mood, since the Glaston Knights were her elite mage knights—loyal and capable subordinates whose value was far above common foot soldiers, whose lives were meant to be spent like water anyway.

'_I…failed them,'_ she thought—for it was her strategies that had sent them pointlessly to their deaths, pitted man and machine against a veritable force of nature. Tactics, clever stratagems, maneuvers—just like seven years ago, it had not been enough, and so the price was death.

Her Mage Knights had been slaughtered, her Knightmares crushed, her forces outmaneuvered – all due to the involvement of the Alchemists of Atlas, repulsing incursions into their territory, or worse…baiting entire squadrons to attack, and then wiping them all out at once, utterly and mercilessly like monster out of some nameless ancestral memory.

But in the end, she had won, obtaining victory at heavy price, evidenced by the fact that the storm was gone, and that the Second Princess stood alone where there one of Atlas' facilities had been.

How?

'_It is infuriating to admit that I was forced to destroy the environment to keep my opponent from using it against me as she did so effectively, resorting to aerial bombardment of the desert with sakuradite warheads, melting the ever-present sands into a sea of glass to cripple the medium of the spell used to compel the Jinns. There can be no sandstorm if there is no sand, after all…'_

Aerial bombardment by the North Atlantic Fleet, with swarms of missiles in such number that their shadows blotted out the sun, a pyroclastic rain of destruction that hurtled down upon the desert sands, screaming at supersonic speeds towards their demises in fiery red-gold explosions blossoming in the desert sun, with the desert itself glowing with molten heat for days after the fact.

'_It is simply too bad that Schneizel's new warship _Avalon, _and its rumored Hadron Cannon, is not complete yet, but fortunately, liquid sakuradite works just as well for destruction of terrain…especially when there are no anti-missile defenses to protect an area—though the sheer quantity of warheads would have overloaded any conventional defense system anyway… '_

Cornelia smiled hollowly as she regarded the scene of devastation all around her, a testament to mankind's ingenuity when it came to wreaking havoc and destruction—with the cooled mix of amber and ebon glass seeming to conceal traces of anger, malice, and fear—as if what remained of the desert was still alive, holding a grudge against her for what she had done out of necessity.

'_Which is absurd…' _the Second Princess of the Empire scoffed, watching as the gracefully rounded shapes of the Caerleon class aerial battleships assigned to her task force passed by overhead, heading alternately towards the commandeered airbases set up at Damascus and Cairo after yet another fruitless day of searching for the "Giant's Pit" of Atlas, the alchemists' repository for weapons of mass destruction. _'If any are to be blamed for this, it is those rogue alchemists who forced my hand…I am merely doing my part to keep those unstable elements from causing the end of the world as we know it.'_

All of which had led to this current, deeply unsatisfying turn of events, where so much effort had been expended just to destroy a MEF base and an auxiliary facility of Atlas—with no information on where any of the high ranking rogues might be. Even visiting the ruins of the alchemist's facility in an attempt to uncover what she could with her abilities as a magus had not borne fruit, as the Eltnam bitch had covered her tracks well, even summoning up Jinns to hamper and impede Cornelia's progress, with one such spirit nearly killing her with a vacuum trap, sucking the air from her immediate surroundings and leaving her gasping for breath.

'_Several of them, each in tune with the wind—my own element—shutting down my offensive capabilities by removing the air from my vicinity. Fortunately, I had my gun-shield—my conceptual weapon of Ruin—with me, and was able to eliminate those…ogre-like beings in that fashion, freeing myself with their deaths. And then, once they died—countless spikes of earth rose from the ground to impale me—a nigh unavoidable death that I only managed to avoid by flaring most of my mana to power a hastily cast lighting spell.'_

One of the most powerful she could cast outside of her reality marble, calling down one hundred—no, closer to a thousand bolts of lightning to pretty much vaporize the opposing spell—though not without cost.

'_Clearly the Dust of Osiris is no common terrorist, with traps within traps, plans within plans, layers of thought and deed behind every action. I wonder…did she predict that I would appear—and that I would manage to defeat the first layer of her trap?'_

Such a fearsome tactician as an adversary was worthy of wary respect, but it was quite…quite troublesome as well, especially in light of the new orders from the Emperor – one of the two people who outranked her militarily and as a magus – demanding that she prepare her forces for an immediate invasion of the Euro Universe barely hours after managing to subduing the last scraps of major resistance in the MEF.

'_Unfortunately, what my father desires, my father will receive—and waiting for the backup of the Knights of Nine and Twelve will help our chances of success…'_

_Whirr!_

At the distinctive whine of an aircraft cutting through the air, Cornelia li Britannia looked up to see a small squadron of VTOL gunships fast approaching her coordinates, led by a Knightmare VTOL carrying a Gloucester—Guilford's from the look of it.

'_Good…my loyal Knight must have sensed the large energy surge of my area effect spell...'_

A small gust of wind as the lead VTOL descended, depositing Guilford's Gloucester onto the gleaming desert glass, with the man himself emerging from the cockpit and lowering himself to the ground with a look of concern on his face.

"Princess Cornelia!" he cried out, just managing to keep from running over to his superior's proud but battered form. "Are you…alright?"

A weary chuckle issued from the Second Princess' lips at the sight of that bespectacled man.

"The terrorists of Atlas set a trap for me, it seems," the purple-haired Witch of Britannia related, shaking her head. "It destroyed my Knightmare, as you can see, but they failed to kill me."

"Your orders, mi'lady?"

"Take me to the Damascus base, Guilford..." she ordered, glancing up at the VTOL escort and hoping that the scion of Eltnam didn't have any other nasty surprises in store for the Britannian forces. "We need to prepare for the invasion of the Euro Universe."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

**Kyoto Settlement, Area 11**

"Excellent, excellent indeed…" muttered Colonel Madd of the Irregulars, his scarred and mangled lips twisting into a rictus of a smile as he listened to the orders being relayed over a secure video link by his master's representative, the vampiric assassin known as Rolo Haliburton. "Our Master always did provide the most excellent…work…to those of our sort. I assume this mission is to be handled by the usual protocols?"

As Commander of the Geass Directorate's Irregulars (the secret branch of the Association tasked with eliminating V.V.'s enemies, as well as dealing with missions that required plausible deniability— "retrieval" and "preservation" of critical information from the minds and bodies of sealed magi, for example), the sadistic balding cyborg was often asked to do rather unsavory things—things that others might have found unpleasant—but which he found richly rewarding.

"Indeed so, Colonel, and the usual arrangements will be made for cleanup and information control after the fact," the young-looking Dead Apostle replied, his face utterly impassive. "However, I caution that the master has not authorized the use of the prototype Einherjar frame, as any evidence of a Knightmare present during tonight's operation would be…counterproductive, at best."

After a few moments of black-hearted grumbling, the cyborg gave a terse nod, his scarred face wrinkling in displeasure as he was forced to accept the immortal's judgment.

"…I suppose that if our ultimate quarry is indeed in Area 11, backed by the might of the Burial Agency, then revealing the existence of our prototype would be unwise," Madd conceded reluctantly, somewhat disappointed that he would not be able to test product of his weapon development project in field conditions, after the vast amount of time and money that had gone into it. "It _was_ rather difficult to integrate the substantial mechanical infrastructure and armor plating required for—"

"Yes, I understand your enthusiasm, Colonel, but our orders are rather time sensitive," Rolo admonished reproachfully, his purple gaze seeming to belittle the cyborg. "Perhaps next time, if you show more efficiency in your results, your request to sortie Einherjar Frame 00 will be authorized."

He stopped there, not wanting to reveal over a video link—even a secure one—the fact that his special "knightmares" were not mecha at all, but armored, mindless cyborg homunculi that a skilled devicer could "synchronize" with through a special neural interface, allowing the pilot to make use of the homunculi's circuits to cast powerful spells as well as augment one's other abilities.

Creating a working model had been—difficult to say the least, resulting in a vast number of failures to in the effort to reach this point, since the techniques behind special reinforcement and alteration of living tissue to such an extent that it could withstand heavy use of magecraft—and of all different elemental affinities—were among the hardest of skills a mage could learn, with the integration of a large version of the Volumen Hydragram to provide defensive and offensive capabilities a herculean task in itself, as the mercury required for that was rather toxic, and required special care to make sure it would not contaminate the Einherjar Frame's biological tissues.

'_Then again, if the manipulations required were easy, the undertaking would not have been worth doing, as another would have already done so…'_

Further, there had been the issue of pilots for these new "Knightmare Frames", since early attempts to synchronize by normal magi had ended in failure, with their all-too-human bodies overwhelmed by the sheer amount of magical energy flooding through the construct's circuits—leading to their bodies dissolving and being absorbed by the gestalt.

Thus, a certain number of children, orphans taken in by the Geass Directorate, had been enhanced by ethically questionable means to serve as devicers, through a series of procedures including biological and mechanical augmentation, reinforcing the skeleton, tweaking affinities, and of course, injecting each pilot candidate with a small quantity of Dead Apostle blood, along with an alchemical solution to keep the candidate from becoming completely vampiric. Of the 50 children selected, 37 had died outright, 7 were crippled beyond the point of repair, and 5 had gone utterly insane, with 1 surviving the procedure, becoming faster, stronger, more durable than the average human, but still sane, albeit dependant on the alchemical solution to prevent complete mental and physical degeneration.

"Very well then, Haliburton," Madd replied curtly, moving to cut off the video link. "Tell Master V.V. that I acknowledge and obey. The eradication of the Six Houses of Kyoto will proceed as planned."

With that, the connection was cut, and the face of V.V.'s personal assassin vanished from the screen.

The old cyborg turned to a young white-haired teen that had been standing by his side, just out of view of the camera, watching the exchange with some interest—looking at the screen where the Dead Apostle's visage had appeared with no small measure of resentment and distaste.

"That vampire may currently be considered the most skilled assassin of the Geass Directorate," the test subject mumbled, eyes sharp behind the purple sunglasses he wore, "but it will be humble Mao who finds C.C., isn't that right?"

"That's right, Mao…and after master V.V. finishes asking her for a favor, then you can have her all to yourself," Colonel Madd affirmed, scarred lips drawing into a smirk, not letting him in on the fact that he was but a vampiric homunculus implanted with the soul of the original Mao—a ghost in a shell, as it were. "But first, you need to prove your worth to the master by completing your assigned missions…in this case, showing off your enhancements by slaughtering the Sumeragis."

The expression of Mao's face could now be said to be frightening, malicious in the way only children truly can be.

"But of course, humble Mao wishes only to serve..."

_

* * *

_

**C.C.'s Atelier, Lower Levels, Ashford Academy**

_Tap-tap-tap-tap!_

Footsteps echoed like screams through the bare metal tunnels of the subterranean levels of Ashford Academy as the Sorceress C.C. roamed the empty corridors, her strands of her lime-green hair wafting behind her kimono-clad form. It was quiet, eerily so, given that all of those she normally associated with were either asleep or simply not present, leaving her to solitude—something that she had not had to deal with in the last few years, but was otherwise what she was used to as a lady of eternity.

'_Above all else, I am a witch, one with a duty to uphold to Gaia and Alaya, as I did, acting on behalf of the Counter Force so many years ago,' _the First Magician thought to herself, shaking her head as she sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. _'Still, I am not so naïve as to think I will truly live forever, and perhaps one day I will find a successor before my sense of self fades. For in ten thousand years of time, I've experienced too much, with eternity wearing away at the mind and soul like nothing else. Hence my addiction to pizza, one of the few luxuries that I allow myself in this modern age …'_

Warm toasted bread, a soft, flakey crust, tomato sauce sprinkled with fresh herbs and spices, the chewiness of melted mozzarella, and then any number of savoury toppings in each delicious mouthful of flavor and warmth ("pizza" coincidentally meaning mouthful in Old High German – one of Zelretch's favorite spellcasting tongues, so it was something of an in-joke between the two of them as well—whenever she visited his establishment, she would always be given a "mouthful" to eat—or rather, a pizza).

'_I did think it was too greasy at first, but…it grew on me,' _the immortal reflected with a sad, somewhat brittle smile. '_Much as Zelretch's odd sense of humor did after a while…after he finished his role as "Merlin" that is…although I admit that he chose a decent _'King' _of the Britons in Arturia.'_

In any case, the First Magician resigned herself to having to trust the Wizard Marshal with helping Lelouch to (partially) break out of the squishy wizard mold before it was too late—not entirely, as she didn't think even a miracle or a wish from a planet terminal could grant that—but enough so that he wouldn't…say, get outrun by the Ashford heir while she was wearing a heavy Victorian ballgown, to pick an absurd example that had probably already happened in the infinite Kaleidescope of worlds.

'_Mana, however, I'm not worried about, since she is apparently with Azaka—and therefore, with Touko, who knew both her parents well. Though if Zelretch sends the _other _Aozaki to retrieve her for something…well…'_

A slight shudder, as C.C. picked up her pace, shaking her head. She had met the two sisters years ago, before their blood feud began, and they were already rather hostile towards one another—it hadn't exactly helped matters that Touko had been passed over for the inheritance of the Aozaki crest, among other things—that she had later slaughtered her family after finding out—or…the list went on.

'_Under other circumstances, I would have considered giving one of them my Code, but…'_

The Magic Gunner already had some of the Fifth (Absolute Destruction, and able to do frightfully powerful things with only a single magic circuit), so she was not an option…and neither was Touko, given that if the other puppetmaster were given the power of the First, C.C. was fairly sure that attention would be drawn away from V.V. in the War of Sorcerers—exactly what she didn't need at the moment.

'_V.V is bad enough of an opponent, with his relentless fanaticism…' _

Though of course, this fanaticism could be harnessed and used against him if one knew what one was doing—in such a way, knowledge was power. Knowing this, she had told Mana to dress in the garb of a Burier, just in case she did encounter one of V.V.'s agents, since the First Sorceress knew above all others that actions had consequences, especially in the great game called war—and when one of the great old ones moved to intervene directly, license was given for the others to move as well.

'_If that brat wishes to make war against the Euro Universe, let him…while he worries about fighting against an Agency just as fanatical as he is, sapping Britannia's forces, I will take advantage of his weakness…'_

What weaknesses there were, anyway, given that C.C. didn't have too many outright allies (yes, there was Zelretch, but he was a wildcard, since one never knew exactly what the old man would do), and that V.V. already had a number of his personal units hidden among the forces in Area 11 (well, and the Ghost Liner Governor General, who was proving to be a true pain in the arse, simply by the fact that he was like a cockroach and refused to stay dead), since Britannia _had_ won the Second Pacific War.

So what to do?

'_I have already contacted the members of Kallen's resistance group via dreamwalking, using the flame magus' mind as a focus by which to find them…and I believe they will prove useful in the fight in the Chiyoda ghetto. I will have to send a representative to meet with them, preferably with a battle plan in mind…'_

Who, though? Kallen was still indisposed since last night's debacle, Mana was…unavailable, Sayoko…well, C.C. would have to speak with Milly before that, and she didn't want to go herself, since V.V. no doubt had magus killers out in force…

'_Ah, yes…I could simply make a puppet…_'

A slightly malevolent chuckle issued from her throat, as C.C. happened to walk past a recharging Mech-Sayoko, remembering one of the few reasons that she had been called Puppet Master, Mage of the Beginning, Apostle of Destruction, Visitation of Woe: her ability to create and control up to 300 dolls within a 3 kilometer radius, making her something of a one woman army if push came to shove.

That (and her mastery of perfect projection) was her distinctive equalizer in battle, just as Zelretch had Kaleidoscope magic (in effect giving him infinite mana), the Third Magician controlled the soul (and so, could raise spirits to aid him/her), the Fourth had controlled the flow of time, and the Fifth…well, the Fifth was simply good at destroying things.

'_Still…I can't exactly just create and use that many puppets without giving away the fact that I am _definitely _in the area, meaning that V.V. would send every other Knight of the Round to Area 11—something I can ill afford at this point.'_

No, it would be better for her full power to remain sealed, so as not to provoke alarm—though having a two or three puppet bodies in play might help matters. Unfortunately, Lelouch was not available, so she couldn't exploit his brand of magecraft to take control of a mech, but…there were other ways to cause dissension in the ranks, after all, with layers of misdirection building off of the lies others had spun.

For if there was one thing the millennia-old Sorceress excelled at, it was deception—leading others to believe they knew her capabilities, feeding false information to her enemies – the Black Keys she used, the rather flashy rune magic techniques, the way she allowed others to do her fighting for her—all of these were part of that.

'_But then, I was a Queen once, and is not deception the first thing one learns in a royal court…even if my power was to turn illusion into reality—which is rather why V.V. wants me dead, because he wishes to make reality into illusion.'_

Still, to be able to carry out the grand play in her mind, the immortal Witch knew that would need to refill her mana reserves, so…

_Pause._

A sly smirk spread across C.C.'s face as she reached out with her mind, feeling the sunken ley line the Ashfords had built their Academy on top of, one that the Ashford family most certainly had a link to, though she doubted they knew some of the more insidious spells and manipulations that could be accomplished with a ley line under one's control.

'_Oh…I can use this…I can certainly use this…_'she gloated darkly, a glint appearing in her golden eyes as the Grey Witch turned on her heel and headed towards the infirmary of the underground complex, where a certain blonde and redhead lay sleeping until the stars were right. _'I'll simply have to use my ability in Territory Creation to fashion a temple of sorts for myself…'_

_

* * *

_

**Vermillion Forbidden City in Luoyang, Chinese Federation**

_Swish-slash-slice! _

In a training field underneath the Vermillion Forbidden City, a skilled swordsman was hard at work on his daily training regimen, his lightning-wrapped sword slicing the air with the sound of a thousand birds, cleaving through the leg of a scrapped Gun-Ru Knightmare armor as its wielder danced nimbly along the ground, guiding his blade in an intricate series of thrusts, parries, and blocks, turning a fliud motion to avoid an invisible enemy and—

_Thud_!

—dropped to one knee, driving the tip of his sword into the ground.

"Eight Trigrams: Heavenly Pillar Strike!"

The earth rumbled and then, with a loud _crack_, exploded upwards in a hail of mud, as a dragon-shaped form erupted from the ground and shot towards the rusted hulk of the decommissioned Knightmare, spearing up from underneath the mecha and tearing it apart…whereupon Li Xingke slumped forward, coughing as he launched into a roll, using the added forward momentum to assist with pulling out his sword and recovering to a guard position at the _crunch-crunch-crunch _of approaching footsteps.

"Lord Xingke," spoke Zhou Xianglin, a rather severe looking green-eyed brunette who served as Li Xingke's chief aide and sparring partner of sorts, giving her superior a slight bow. "The High Eunuchs request your presence."

At the mention of the set of corrupt officials who were supposedly sworn to serve the Empress, but for all intents and purposes ran the Chinese Federation, the swordsman stiffened, and the temperature in the training hall seemed to drop precipitously, before Li Xingke gave a very curt nod and sheathed his weapon, gesturing to his assistant to lead the way to where he had been summoned.

Navigating the veritable labyrinth of facilities belowground in lock step with his efficient aide (who was told to wait outside), it was only a matter of minutes before Li Xingke emerged into the meeting room, just as a rather nasal voice was commenting on the buildup of Britannian forces in the former Middle Eastern Federation as well as the apparent chaos caused by Zero in Area 11.

"An interesting character, this masked vigilante, to have turned the Britannians upon themselves," one of the pompous Eunuchs declared, his eyes fixed upon a military officer dressed in maroon—General Cao, commandant of the Militarized Zone of Liaodong, the territory on the eastern seaboard of the Chinese Federation across a strait from Japan. "And to have killed most of the nobles in the Tokyo Settlement as well…"

Li Xingke gave a momentary start at those words, glancing over to the wall where a monitor displayed a still of the crater where the Britannian Victory Memorial Center had once stood, an image drawn from footage that had been all over the news since the morning.

'_What in the name of the Taiji…'_

"Xingke, how nice of you to finally join us," another of the Eunuchs chimed in, putting a certain emphasis on "finally" as if to imply that he was quite late—just another way of keeping the faction leader in his place. "What do you have to say about the Zero incident?"

To his credit, the martial artist managed to keep his face utterly impassive, even in the presence of men he detested more than any others in the world.

"If you have called me due to my area of expertise," the young prodigy began formally, pausing as his eyes flitted about, receiving at least one nod to continue. "Then I assume you wish for me to gauge the likelihood of Zero's attack being…of unconventional means?"

"Indeed…" one of the taller Eunuchs spoke up, this being Xia Wang, from the western provinces. "While your views are somewhat…questionable, your competence in…your specialty is noted."

By which the Eunuch was grudgingly admitting that Xingke was, in fact, a magus swordsman of great talent, having been trained as a weapon for the Chinese Federation ever since his life had been spared long ago—though, given that said Eunuch had gone so far as to arrange for the powdered bones of a Buddha to be embedded in the body of the young prodigy, granting him added resistance to supernatural effects and some skill with barriers, this was only to be expected.

"Given what little I know of the situation and the scale of the explosion required to do such damage, it is possible…though Zero would have to be talented indeed to launch an effect of such magnitude," Xingke conceded, inclining his head ever so slightly to his nominal superior. "The other possibility is that Zero somehow acquired and detonated a large amount of liquid sakuradite, though the lack of scorch marks in buildings outside the radius of destruction would seem to rule that out."

"In either case," General Cao cut in, being an opportunist, as so many others tended to be, "with the elimination of so many nobles from their posts, there is a good chance that most of the civilian administration of Area 11 has been thrown into chaos."

"And what of the situation of martial law imposed by the…Vampire of Britannia, General?" one of the eight assembled Eunuchs inquired. "Surely, that too must be causing some…civil unrest? And if Zero is an indication of the general sentiment of the public, then it would simply be humane for us to intervene, would it not? To…liberate them…"

It was only natural that the unrest in Area 11, which produced over 70% of the world's sakuradite, would be of interest to the eight High Eunuchs, as the Chinese Federation's failure to seize Japan during the Second Pacific War was one of the nation's great frustrations.

"If I am not mistaken, we are the host of the Japanese government in exile, correct?" another of the Eunuchs inquired of the General. "Led by the Chief Cabinet Secretary of the former Japanese government, Sawasaki Atsushi, yes?"

"Correct on both counts, Lord Qian," the military officer confirmed with a curt nod. Face impassive, he looked from one Eunuch to the rest, an idea in his mind. "Are you suggesting…?"

"Continue monitoring the situation for now, and put our forces on alert," one of the shorter Eunuchs spoke up. "If conditions appear favorable in the next few weeks, then we shall kindly assist Sawasaki Atsushi in liberating his country."

"Yes, Lord Lishi," the general acknowledged with a bow.

"As for you, Li Xingke," the High Eunuch named Cai Lishi continued, "our intelligence confirms that the Britannians have completed the conquest of the Middle Eastern Federation, presumably to launch an offensive against either the Euro Universe or the Chinese Federation itself. Given your considerable talents, you are to report to the Militarized Zone of India, the place beyond known lands, where you will take command of a task force to neutralize the Britannian forces occupying the Middle East. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Xingke acknowledged, maintaining his impassivity. "I hear and obey for the good of the Chinese Federation."

"Then all of you are dismissed," the largest of the Eunuchs spoke at last, watching as both military officers bowed and left the room.

Once all were out of earshot save for his fellow Eunuchs, he spoke once again, more quietly.

"So at last, Britannia will pay for interfering with our plans for Area 11 seven years ago…and Li Xingke will either defeat the vaunted Witch of Britannia or die in the process. Either way, a danger to our rule is removed."

* * *

**Sumeragi Compound, Outskirts of Kyoto, Area 11**

_BOOM! Whoosh! Whirr!_

When running for one's life, dodging fireballs and such in a large clan compound, formality and protocol tended to take a backseat to necessity. So Kaguya Sumeragi reflected…or would have reflected, had she been able to spare enough mental capacity to think about things rationally, instead of being gripped by the terror of death, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she made for an exit—only to see more shadowy attackers laying in wait at the end of the hall.

'_I'm surrounded…but how did these assailants break through the wards around the house?' _the younghead of the Kyoto House thought as she backed off and headed down another, slightly less destroyed hallway, aiming to escape out the back, with a dementedly laughing white-haired psychopath following after her every move.

"Hahaha… you can't hide for long…" the voice cried mockingly, its bloodthirsty tones mixing with the crackling of flames and an overpowering killing intent to make Kaguya sick to her stomach. "But run, run run, run if you can…little one."

The raven-haired girl came to an intersection and veered hard right, towards a long corridor that led eventually to a little-used back entrance, grinding her teeth in anxiety as the flight or flight response took over her body at the sensation of being hunted, like a fox by rabid hounds.

Even in the dim light, her face was pale and she looked like she would vomit, with once black hair stained the red of spurting aortic blood, tresses fluttering about her face, almost as if she was screaming, eyes glowing fiery red and fingernails sharpening to claws as her petite body reinforced itself as the demonic power of her distant ancestry was made manifest.

_Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!_

Footsteps closer, closer, closer, as she ran into a room—and whirled upon reaching a wall, turning to face her pursuer, barely registering the collapsed bodies of her family's servants, as well as the severed heads of the representatives from the council of six that ran the Kyoto house, as her pursuer lunged into view—and had his chest impaled by a spear of crimson hair.

_Squelch!_

At the entryway of the room, the half-vampiric Mao looked down as he felt a slight stinging sensation, finding to his amusement that the young Kaguya had attacked him.

"My my… a little demon brat I see…" the white-haired homunculus scoffed, his voice a sick mixture of malice and pleasure, fingers lengthening into claws as he ripped the spear of hair from his body and advanced towards the girl. "You missed my heart…"

_Whoosh!_

Without further words, Mao lunged forward in a blur of speed, his clawed hands aiming for the throat throat and gut of his target, when—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Five strips of paper inscribed with anti-demon seals shot forward from the sleeves of Kaguya's heavy kimono, aligning themselves into a barrier that solidified in front of the girl, buying her a moment's protection—

"_**Shatter!"**_

—but only a moment, as Mao reached to his utility belt and drew an Azoth dagger, channeling his magical energy through the blade to disrupt the shield, his other arm slamming forward against the barrier, his fingers glowing with a sickly purplish light.

A clash of wills as demon fought demon for supremacy, attack against defense, killing intent against the preservation instinct, as—

_Crash!_

—the impromptu shield shattered, and with a sickening crunch, the glowing hand pierces her chest.

Shocked, no, as if she was accepting it, Kaguya didn't even try to dodge, and was rewarded with a violent pulse of mana released within her body, blowing out the middle of her torso to the accompaniment of an agonized shriek.

Like a puppet with strings cut, the girl collapsed to her knees, her mouth working open and shut as no words came out, eyes wide in shock and disbelief.

"Huh…" Mao commented, as he withdrew his hand, "Pity, I didn't think you would be so weak…but I suppose it should be expect—."

He cut himself off with a frown as he realized that there was no blood on his limb at all, and what he had momentarily thought to be parts of her chest blown against the wall he now recognized as…

"…paper?" Mao hissed, eyes darting back to the kneeling form of Kaguya Sumeragi, only to find that the little demon brat was smirking, glowing red eyes meeting his defiantly.

"…Dance of the Shikigami," the girl spat, as her form exploded into a tornado of paper strips, each inscribed with a number of ink seals. Said strips each flew towards the closest available surface and, on making contact, stuck firmly, with some sticking to the walls, to Mao, to the bodies, the floor, and some floating in the air.

"Gah…a…paper puppet? So where's the real—?"

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!_

The room screamed as demonic power built in the seals, and with a roar of primal fury and a flash of blinding white, a massive explosion consumed all within in a raging inferno…a paper clone's suicide technique meant to take out any hostiles.

It worked to perfection…or would have, at least, had Mao been anything other than a vampiric homunculus, with enhanced regenerative abilities and durability. As it was, when the magus killer came to in a sea of flame, he found himself in a world of pain, feeling like his skin had been melted, his magic circuits disrupted, and most of his bones broken as he crawled out of the firestorm.

'_That…hurt. That really…hurt.'_

But still, Mao had managed to survive, meaning that in a day or so—if not mere hours, all of this would likely be healed. And for now, the homunculus would report a successful mission, since he had no idea where the demon girl's true body might be, and he had—to his credit, successfully eliminated every other person there.

After all…after having invested so much power in a clone and suicide technique, what could one powerless little girl possibly do to stop him from finding C.C.?

Once more, demented laughter wafted through a burning compound, as the mad magus grinned.

**

* * *

**

**Touko Aozaki's Atelier**

To anyone who didn't know better, Touko Aozaki seemed a cold, imperious magus, utterly unmoved by events in the world around her, a mercenary who had seen too much, and had accepted the truth that emotions, drives, and passions only led to disappointment in the end. To some extent, this was true (especially compared to at least one of her former peers, the late director of the Sponheim Abbey—a man driven near to madness by his obsession to show up the Aozaki—and had died after calling her a 'dirty red'), but Touko had never quite managed the trick of killing off her humanity. Thus, there were still a number of things that could set her off, including the 'dirty red' comment (which implied that her title of "Red" was meaningless compared to her sister's "Blue" – which was the Noble Color designation she originally desired from the Association), any outrageous remarks made by her sister, or the presence of her sister.

Aside from the violent bouts of tranquil fury and conflict that would inevitably ensue when these berserk buttons were pressed, however, the bespectacled magus found that she could be occasionally amused, bemused or annoyed by the actions of a few others—one of which lay comatose within a circle of runes in her workshop, chest rising and falling evenly, with no change in her condition.

'_But then, none is to be expected, since the Ryougi line does not have access to any special healing powers,'_ the red-haired magus thought to herself, looking up from her workbench to glance at her patient with a baleful eye, noting that her condition was unchanged—and that Azaka was slumped over in a chair by the Satsujinki's side. _'As much as Azaka fawned over her brother, I somewhat expected that. Still Mana is so much like her mother...even up to being prone to lose arms in battle, it seems—though I wish she had only lost one.'_

That would have made things easier, certainly, since it fell to the genius doll-maker to crafting a pair of replacement limbs for the young Satsujinki, one from the shoulder, and one from the elbow. Not that Touko was incapable of such a thing—as a magus, her specialty was reproducing parts of a body (or entire bodies) with absolute precision, parts that could be used just like—or better than, the original.

'_Much like my current body, which is in fact one of the many backups I created in case of my original body's destruction—a wise precaution as it turned out, especially after the Araya incident and the Britannian purge.'_

Her fingers moved deftly as they shaped an ether clump called into existence by her magic, a sort of liquid clay that could be molded with magical energy and set into a shape of one's desire.

"Ideally, I would wait until you wake up, little one," the Aozaki puppetmaster said with a wry twist of her lips. "But time is a luxury we cannot afford, as events are moving too quickly. I will have to finish this by tomorrow, before—"

The bespectacled magus cut herself off, narrowing her eyes as she felt a familiar but very unwelcome presence at the door of her studio. Rising from her chair, she stormed over to the door, muttered a few choice words, and flung the portal open, her body visibly growing rigid at the sight of the other Aozaki.

"Aoko, you bitch…what do you want this time?" Touko asked brusquely, managing to keep from trying to murder the Sorceress on sight as she remembered their Zelretch imposed truce. _'Angering the old man would be most…unwise…'_ And then another thought struck belatedly, as her expression softened ever so slightly. _'And then, I can't endanger my patient either…'_

"Oh come on, relax, Nee-chan, I'm not here to fight," the Magic Gunner responded peevishly, her tone in contrast to her actions, as she raised her hands as if to show she meant no harm. And the wielder of Absolute Destruction blinked as she took in her older sister's appearance, raising a clearly curious eyebrow. "You haven't aged a day since the last time we met…"

Not that the gesture of good will made the puppetmaster lower her guard overly much, knowing that Aoko was best described as chaotic, able to move from perfectly cheerful and upbeat to trying to blow someone to smithereens in the blink of an eye—while still being cheerful and upbeat.

"Which was once too many for my taste," Touko shot back, eyebrow twitching as she considered her ostensibly younger sister, finding that she did seem slightly older, but not as much as time would seem to indicate. "I suppose I could say the same for you, emotionally, since you haven't become any less childish…"

"Oi, Nee-san…" Aoko began, but the older Aozaki merely waved off the protest.

"I'll get to the point, since I have something to do, and if I'm not mistaken, you have to go retrieve the Nanaya," the puppetmaster said coldly, taking care to keep Aoko from seeing too much of what was inside her workshop. "What do you want, Aoko?"

Since the Magic Gunner had no intention of provoking a fight at the moment, the Sorceress simply leaned against the frame of the door and put her hands in the pockets of her jeans, taking care to look as non-threatening as possible.

"I was just wondering about your patient's condition," Aoko replied casually, tying to glance past Touko, but finding her way blocked—again. "As I understand it from the Old Man, she seems to have a strange power…much like your former employee…or my…student, at that. How odd, maybe those with odd eyes are simply drawn to the Aozaki sisters, eh, Nee-chan?"

Touko winced at the display of casual familiarity, restraining herself from the urge to walk over to her desk and open her briefcase, so she could "test" how effective one of her familiars might be against a…

'_No, that would be bad…' _the puppetmaster thought to herself, shaking her head to clear it of such dark thoughts, while keeping her sister in her field of view. _'Besides if we fight here, the Old Man will come down hard on both of us, and his Kaleidescope magic is…rather fearsome.'_

"Why do you want to know, Aoko?" Touko bit back caustically, transmitting every ounce of hostility she could through her eyes. "From what I heard, she's not confused about her power, so you won't have a chance to play 'Sensei' again, like you did to that Nanaya boy—and there will be no need to steal my Mystic Eye killer glasses again."

Aoko's eyebrow shot up at that, though she didn't lose her composure as most who had seen her in battle might have expected her to. Still, as the heir to a magus family, she knew enough to be civil—if she really wanted to be—and the Magic Gunner would be leaving for another mission soon, so, she didn't take the barbs too much to heart.

"Aw come on, Nee-chan, you already made up for it by taking hard-earned money out of my accounts with the Association," Aoko grumbled half-heartedly. "I have to see the Old Man after this anyway, so I thought I'd ask if we needed to move your patient into one of his special training areas, since those…"

"…ah yes, time passes differently in those places, due to the spatial distortion," Touko completed, pursing her lips in consideration of that. She blinked, once, as she found herself unable to deal with her sister actually being helpful for a change. "I suppose that might be useful for her rehab, so she can be combat worthy again…"

Aoko listened to this with an almost expectant look on her face, chuckling to herself as the puppetmaster's expression soured.

"I'm not going to say thank you," Touko groused, breaking eye-contact and moving to close the door in her sister's face, leaving the Sorceress just enough time to get out of the way with a startled "yip!"

_Thud!_

"You just did, Nee-chan," the Sorceress' muffled voice called from the other side of the door, as the Magic Gunner's footsteps faded away and out of earshot.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply to release the tension from her body (and then repeating the process several times until she was no longer quivering with rage), Touko walked back over to her workbench and sat down, focusing herself once more.

'_While Aoko _is _most certainly a bitch, she does have a point…sometimes.'_

And so, with another glance at the sleeping forms of Mana and Azaka, Touko went back to work, resolving to finish the Satsujinki's replacement arms by dawn.

**

* * *

**

**Zelretch's Workshop**, **Nexus of Worlds **

"HNNNNNGGGGG!"

Such was the sound of the magus Lelouch Lamperouge moaning in pain as his face was shoved into the ground by a surprisingly powerful foot, with his assailant grabbing onto his arm in what he recognized was the beginning of a submission—

"Auugh! Alright…alright…you win…" he croaked out, then nearly screamed again as his attacker mercilessly pressed her advantage, wrenching the young man's limb almost from its socket, leaving the bruised and battered former prince of the empire whimpering.

"You want this to end?" a deceptively cute voice purred sweetly into his ear, as more force was applied.

A frantic nod.

"Are you terribly sure?" the voice continued, seeming almost…disappointed. "I really could keep doing this all day. But if you insist, then…"

The feminine voice trailed off, as the pressure and pain decreased fractionally.

"…say it," Lelouch's demonic assailant purred sweetly into his ear, almost seeming to enjoy his few moments of admirable, but ultimately futile existence. "Say it, or…"

"Say what?" the dark princeling asked, face contorted with agony. "A certain onomatopoeia?"

This time, the purr was closer to a growl.

"If you insist on being difficult, I'll just have to keep playing..."

Lelouch's eyes widened as he realized the meaning of those words, and he hastily cut in to keep her from twisting his arm any further.

"I am beaten. And for a master…" the raven-haired magus began, breath hissing through his teeth in pain as he spoke. "A…cat…would be fabulous, Mistress Ren."

"Just so you know, the winner doesn't need to be told she has won," the petite succubus familiar whispered, her hot breath against his ear sending an involuntary shiver down Lelouch's spine—and then all at once, the pressure on his arm was gone, as Lelouch's attacker eased off and leapt away from him with the grace of a feline. In the wake of this brutal assault, the Lamperouge magus rolled over and sat up, straightening his arm and rubbing it gingerly to restore circulation—and to ensure nothing had been broken.

'_Out of the top ten embarrassing moments in my life, this experience of being utterly humiliated by a cat in hand to hand combat has shot up to number two, right behind Milly putting a picture of me as "Ms. Ashford Academy" on the splash page of the school's website for middle aged men to lust over. I do not like cleaning out the school's email simply because there are far too many idiot spammers who ask about the girl…'_

When Lelouch finished his momentary one man pity party and looked over to the corner of the room where Zelretch had been watching, he found the old man cradling his forehead in his palm, shoulders shaking as if he were crying or—

'_No…there are no tears…'_

—it appeared that it was laughter instead, and so the Lamperouge magus steeled himself for what he was sure to be acerbic commentary that would come afterwards. Much to the prince's surprise, after being given some clothing (male clothing, thankfully), and a brief discussion of the Kaleidostick and alternate possibilities, the immortal named Zelretch had requested that Lelouch demonstrate what combat ability he had, magical and otherwise, introducing a white-clad version of the girl that C.C. had once addressed as Ren to serve as his "sparring partner."

'_That…was just embarrassing…much worse than sparring against Milly…'_

From the beginning of the match, White Ren had proceeded to dismantle any shreds confidence Lelouch had in his unarmed combat abilities, showing no small amount of disappointment that he couldn't even conjure up a Gandr spell (the basic offensive spell of the royal family) or any of the more impressive abilities that he had called upon with the aid of the Kaleidostick, culminating in his embarrassing defeat and concession of his superiority.

"When I noted that you were able to possess the Kaleidostick, I had thought your training in magecraft to be more advanced," Zelretch muttered as he managed to still his laughter after a long while, though amusement and disappointment were both apparent in his kindly eyes. "Yet, you cannot defend yourself even from a cat."

The master of the Second Magic paused as he felt a surge of hostility from the direction of White Ren, looking over to the girl to find himself on the receiving end of a death glare.

"…a powerful demon familiar, I mean to say," Zelretch amended after a moment, watching as the white-clad succubus nodded, somewhat mollified by the Sorcerer's correction. "Even so, to be unable to cast even one offensive or defensive spell—or to defend yourself at all, is almost a death sentence in our world—it seems that it was most fortunate that C.C. passed a copy of the Kaleidostick to you."

"I take it that this is leading somewhere?" Lelouch asked, studying the Sorcerer's face for any clues as to what would happen next—only to find that he couldn't read much from the immortal's features.

"Yes," Zelretch affirmed, nodding once. "The quality and amount of your magic circuits give you the potential to be quite a powerful magus, and in many other alternates, you would have already become an impressive warrior – hence the power of the Mirage Knight, a version of yourself that was raised by Altrouge Brunestud, who in one world became the heir to the Crimson Moon. While I doubt you can reach that level of mastery in the time we have, I am sure we can at least leave you able to defend yourself…isn't that right, Ren?"

The succubus familiar in question performed a curtsey and walked forward daintily, smirking like a cat that had just been given a new toy to play with as she critically looked over the reed-thin figure of Lelouch, noting several deficiencies immediately.

"Yes, just so, Old Man," the girl in white commented, her voice playful in a dangerous sort of way that suggested whatever was about to come would be fun for her—and no one else. She nodded to the Sorcerer before addressing the younger magus—confirming the grave truth behind the sinking feeling n Lelouch's stomach. "Since your strongest elemental affinity happens to be the same as mine—Water, with an emphasis on Ice, I will be the one to train you."

The normally unflappable prince of lies gulped at this, wondering just what he was getting himself into, but managed to find his voice to make an inquiry.

"So how long do you intend to keep me here?" the magus asked seriously, raising an eyebrow as he studied both of the people. "I do have people to meet, places to go, a rebellion to run…"

"Only a day or so," the deceptively cute familiar replied, reaching out to bop Lelouch on the nose and pull him in the direction of the training facilities that would be their eventual destination. "You should survive…I think. Now come along, and call me...Master..."

Knowing that it was probably in his best interest to do as the young girl asked, the raven-haired magus had just started walking when the Second Magician spoke once more, his gravelly baritone causing the prince to freeze in his tracks.

"Oh, and I suppose I should mention that in these specialized training areas, time flows differently, due to how space has been distorted. In the area you are going to, an hour inside is the same as minute outside…so a day or so is the equivalent of several months."

_Gulp._

Mouth falling open, then shutting with a _click _of teeth, Lelouch merely cursed under his breath and resumed walking.

'_While I don't hate C.C. for introducing me to this world and granting me power_, _this had better be worth it…'_

**

* * *

**

**Camelot Research Facility, Area 11**

Suzaku Kururugi was quickly finding out that the patronage of an eccentric noble like Earl Lloyd Asplund was a very mixed blessing indeed. On one hand, the Knightmare developer was focused entirely on data and results, allowing the private to pilot an experimental Knightmare Frame based on his excellent results in the simulator—giving him a tool that he was sure he could use to stop conflict, preventing any more meaningless deaths from happening). On the other hand, the Knightmare developer was focused entirely on data and results, meaning that the Honorary Britannian was often called upon to work at odd hours to participate in tests and simulations—particularly so ever since Earl Asplund had agreed to use the earlier Lancelot prototypes as a base to build a derivative series of Knightmare Frames.

'_I didn't think it would be this much work to be a devicer, but—if this is the price I pay to work within the system for change that works, so be it,' _the soldier resolved, shaking his head sadly as he recalled the images from this morning's news. _'So many people dead by Zero's hand, his contemptible means a blight to all who seek justice…'_

Once more, he felt a flicker of revulsion that the masked revolutionary had once saved him, somehow inciting a revolt in the army to do so. While Zero had claimed that Jeremiah Gottwald had simply reacted badly to "the truth of things", Suzaku rather thought that there must have been something else going on—blackmail perhaps, or bribery.

'_Though bribery makes no sense, as what could Zero offer to an acting viceroy to convince him to betray his country?'_

"Suzaku, is there something wrong?" Cecile's voice called over the intercom, as her face appeared in the communications window on the Lancelot's viewscreen. "Your bio-readings are much more erratic than usual today."

"I…its nothing," Suzaku dismissed, not wanting to worry the blunette who fussed over him.

"Then you'll be delighted to know that I have good news, and better news," the ever chipper voice of Lloyd Asplund, sociopath and mad scientist extraordinaire cut in, as the man…danced into view, seemingly excited as a child at Christmas. "Which do you want first?"

_Thwack!_

As usual, it fell to Lloyd's long suffering assistant (since college!) Cecile Croomy to keep him in line, usually by physically disciplining him by smacking him on back of the head with a clipboard or whatever handy device was in her hand. While some might have thought of it as physical abuse, Cecile simply thought of it as a way to vent her frustration…

"Lloyd, not everyone thinks that it's great like you do," she admonished, feeling somewhat like a mother trying to deal with an overeager manchild. "Especially…in light of the circumstances."

She glanced over to the Lancelot, a cue that Lloyd actually picked up as he rubbed his head, wincing.

"But Ceci—ah, right…sorry, sorry," he said in an unenthusiastic tone at a _look_ from his aide, even pouting a little bit like a frustrated child. "Anyways, the good news is that repairs to the Lancelot will be done by tomorrow—which leads to the better news."

"Lloyd…" Cecile muttered with a note of warning, but it was too late to stop the Director of Camelot from speaking.

"The Engineering Corps has been personally asked by the Governor General to assist with the eradication of the Saitama Ghetto as part of the reprisal against Zero's actions," Lloyd stated, looking at his notes. "I should tell you that it's basically a loyalty test, checking to see whether or not you have the stomach to do what was necessary for the greater good."

"Lloyd…" Cecile repeated, her voice slightly more threatening than before.

Hearing this, Suzaku stiffened in his seat, remembering that the planned destruction of the ghettos was all because of Zero—revenge against the people that had spawned the killer of nobility. But what was he supposed to do? Killing innocent people was anathema to the Honorary Britannian, since it would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was really just like Zero…just another killer…

'_He really didn't care what would happen, did he…and now…and now…'_

"But, I can offer you an alternative," the scientist continued, the smile never leaving his features as he spoke, catching Private Kururugi's attention. "Given that the conditions seem similar to what transpired in Shinjuku, it is likely that Zero himself will appear to attempt a last stand—which means that you will have the chance to confront him you so ardently desire. And if you manage to stop Zero and the terrorists who back him, then in all likelihood, the eradications will cease. You will have fulfilled your goal of saving people, after all, by proving that you are nothing like Zero."

Earl Asplund said this not because he cared about Suzaku as a person, but because the psychological state of a devicer was rather important for performance—but it seemed to work.

Private Kururugi's thoughts spun as he considered this—and found it surprisingly plausible. If Zero were killed, then the Britannians would have no further reason to come down hard on his people. Why, if _he_ killed Zero, then there might be more trust given to Honorary Britannians, and the Japanese people would benefit immensely.

Besides, Zero had brought this fate upon himself, by working outside the system, killing so many for his own ends—it was only right that an agent of the system punish the one who had caused it such harm, wasn't that right?

And within the mind of Suzaku Kururugi, a darker, more sinister impulse agreed.

"Yes…my Lord," was all he said aloud, as a firm resolve settled within his soul to protect what he believed in.

* * *

**Beirut, Area 18 (Former Middle Eastern Federation)**

Like every major city in the former Middle Eastern Federation that had not been reduced to rubble, Beirut's streets were filled with the presence of Britannian troops and refugees, overflowing from nearby military bases and destroyed areas as they celebrated their victory. It had been a hard-fought series of engagements, one that none of the Britannians had really expected—and rumor had it that another war loomed on the horizon—why else the massive movement of men and materiel from the homeland?

"Damn ragheads put up more of a fight than we thought they would," one of the soldiers grumbled, glowering and pointing his rifle at the refugees swarming the streets—who flinched away from his presence.

"Yeah, especially with those oversized imitation Knightmares…and whatever the hell they hid that duststorm before Cornelia called in a massive airstrike to blow it all to hell," another added, shaking his head slightly. "Talk about FUBARed…a SNAFU, just as always."

"Frankly, if I never see another sand storm, it will be too soon," a third added, wearing an expression of distaste beneath his facemask. "I mean, look at this place…why the hell did we want it anyway? There's no sakuradite here, just oil—and we have enough of that at home. Shitty craphole of a city, this place has got to be the world's asshole or something—there aren't even any attractive locals to make it worth it."

"Well, what the Emperor wants, the Emperor gets…it's not like he gives a shit what we ground-pounders think, or the Knights and other nobles, at that," the first spoke up, deciding to take his frustration out on the scared refugees surrounding him. "I mean, all hail Britannia and all that, but…"

"Yeah, as soon as my term of service is done, I'm going to move to Area 7 or something, somewhere away from all that bureaucratic bullshit…maybe become a pineapple farmer or something," the second added to that. "So much for…join the army, see the world, pay for college, earn interesting career opportunities. Not unless you're a noble…"

The three soldiers finally tramped around a corner and out of sight, as the refugees milling about in the city seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief, though they were wary for the presence of any other troops, especially those who were either more or less obviously tipsy, knowing that that could easily lead to violence (not that the Britannian army as a whole had ever needed an excuse to commit an atrocity).

But among the throngs of civilians in the streets, there were two who stood out more than the average listless nomad. True, they were dressed in the same desert wraps and such as everyone else, but there was something about them that unconsciously made the crowd shift around them, parting for them almost as readily as the soldiers.

It wasn't the fact that one seemed to be blind or somehow injured, with what could be seen of his face below the headdress and Bedouin cloak apparently wrapped in bandages. It wasn't the fact that the man's companion was carrying a heavy bundle across his (or was it her?) back, moving as if tired from a long journey (in that, the traveler was like most everyone else).

No, it was the fact that the apparently blind man wore an expression on his face that, while technically a smile, was far too predatory for the comfort of those around them, whose deep-buried instincts screamed for them to get out of the way before they were killed—probably in a bloody and very painful way.

In their discomfort, they tended to miss the fact that the "blind" man and his companion were "speaking" in French Sign Language…not that anyone around recognized the gestures, or would be inclined to believe even if they did, since it was obvious that a blind man had no use for sign language. Obviously, the two merely suffered from some motor control problems…

…or so Sion Eltnam Atlasia and Shiki Nanaya allowed everyone to think, while they were able to move just fine, using a nearly invisible Ethelite filament to connect up their nervous systems, allowing them to share Sion's sight.

"So the trap failed, it seems…" Shiki signed, his brow furrowing just a little at the thought of the effort that had gone into setting up the multi-layered snare. "A pity…though I suppose this means I will get to fight her…"

"Must you be so reckless, Shiki?" Sion signed in return. "While I…appreciate your enthusiasm, she was not given her title without justification. And speaking of titles…"

Their meandering had brought them to a house in the shadowed outskirts of the city, where another wanderer waited for them, with a few strands of fiery red hair peeking out from her travelling cloak.

"Tomorrow is a new day, a solitary journey with a single trunk and a free spirit," the stranger spoke abruptly, causing the Director of Atlas and the Nanaya to look at one another.

'_Well, that was the code phrase…so now to speak the countersign…'_

"Be sliced by the blades of summer snow, fragile thing," the "blind" man countered, receiving in return something like a snort of laughter.

"Knowledge enters my memory, thoughts become my food," Sion added. "Purpose lost to anxiety, to an endless tatari…"

"I never had a set purpose to begin with," the stranger spoke once more, nodding to acknowledge the exchange of proper passwords. "By the color of your eyes, you are welcome."

With that, the red-haired wanderer turned towards the house and opened the door, with the two travelers following the stranger into the house, and closing the door behind them, as all three figures doffed their headdresses, revealing their identities to one another.

"It seems you are doing well, Shiki," Aoko Aozaki said by way of greeting, looking from the assassin to the alchemist beside him. "And you as well, Dust of Osiris. I trust you managed to protect your branch, as well as retrieve whatever artifacts thought necessary?"

Well, yes, Sensei, I think that much was obvious," the demon hunter interjected, wrapping an arm around Sion's waist, much to the alchemist's embarrassment. "After all, she is one of the few people I approve of…"

"True…one of the few you trust, as compared to those you regard as meatbags, nuisances, or people who need killing," the Sorceress murmured wryly, remembering how few the assassin placed in the former category...and how many of the latter were no longer alive today. "But, the artifact?"

"Indeed, Magic Gunner Miss Blue," Sion replied gravely, her dark complexion just barely managing to hide a flush as she stepped away from Shiki and unslung the heavy bundle from her back, unwrapping it slightly to reveal the dark gleam of metal. "The Council has agreed to unseal the Seven Great Weapons in light of the all out war between the branches, as were these weapons not created to keep the world from ending?"

"In contrast to my talents, which are more focused towards…the other end of the spectrum," Aoko quipped, eyeing the weapon with a measure of wary respect. "Is that…?"

"Yes, this item is what you suspect it to be…the original weapon from which my sidearm was derived, the masterwork of the First, who founded Atlas long ago," the Dust of Osiris murmured reverently. "A weapon countering Ether—capable of killing spirits…even gods."

"The Black Barrel," Aoko stated flatly, raising an eyebrow. "And the Council agreed to unseal it?"

"Once they were convinced that a certain Sorcerer specializing in evocation and necromancy was responsible for the current war, yes," Sion confirmed, rather displeased by the havoc whoever was in charge of the Mage's Association had caused. While the dust storm _had _bought enough time to evacuate students from the auxiliary facilities, the main facility had become rather packed, and there were some concerns about the supply chain—though not as many as would be the case had Atlas not been designed as a mostly self-sufficient geofront.

Still, Alchemists of Atlas were a proud group, and so had agreed to work together and put aside their factional infighting due to the presence of a common enemy—the fell magus named Witch of Britannia. They had even put aside their rivalry with the Sea of Estray temporarily, cooperating with an alchemist from Praha by the name of Fabro Rowan.

"I _am_ rather disappointed that I did not get a chance to see Magus Rowan's combat abilities, much less spar against him," Shiki noted, just to find something objectionable. "Especially as he promised to provide a distraction in Cairo, drawing the army's attention away…"

"Well, most Alchemists are rather careful with their secrets. You are only privy to so many as it is because you are the consort of Atlas' director," Aoko teased gently, smirking as the Nanaya gave her a lazy grin. "Besides, if he is who I think he is, an Alchemist who has lived for over 800 years…we who dwell on the dark side will know before long, as the ripples spread."

"Just as you say, Sensei," the killer conceded, with a deferential gesture.

"Hmph," Sion interjected, glancing from student to teacher with a shake of her head. Human beings could be so very illogical at times. "So you had a request for us?"

"From the Wizard Marshal himself," Aoko intoned, face suddenly growing serious as Shiki and Sion both seemed to perk up with interest. "Based on his study of the Kaleidescope, he suspects that the Third may be creating Dead Apostles as servants…"

"…so we need to find out if it is true, where the base is, and kill them all," the Nanaya finished, a beatific smile crossing his lips. "How very…pleasant. But why not simply end this war by removing…certain individuals from power? Say…the Emperor of Britannia?"

"…because even you cannot tear through the combined forces of the Association and the squadrons of Knightmares Britannia will use, given that your eyes can only perceive and destroy life force," Aoko retorted sternly, smiling grimly as the assassin nodded, showing he'd gotten the message.

"I take it there is something beside this piece of reconnaissance involved?" Sion inquired, knowing that those of Sorcerer rank never made simple requests—there was always some string attached, some deeper meaning. They, even more than the Alchemists of Atlas, tended to think in deep layers of thought and deed—well, except perhaps Aoko, who could afford to be straightforward, since one ignored her at one's peril.

"Yes. And Shiki, you'll be happy to know that it involves a girl," Aoko joked, knowing how much of a ladies' man the Nanaya had once been. "The one gifted with the title of…"

"…Satsujinki?" the assassin whispered, a pleased smirk flitting across his lips as Aoko nodded in confirmation. "I take it she requires training, or some such, and that she has the same eyes as I, then?"

"Not quite," the Magic Gunner corrected, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Your eyes see what keeps people alive—she sees the opposite: the fragility of the world itself."

While Shiki was not stupid by any means, he was no match for Sion in sheer speed of thought.

"The mystic eyes of death perception?" Sion asked sharply. "But I thought that Shiki Ryougi had perished?"

"She did," Aoko confirmed. "The girl in question is Mana, her daughter…"

"Well then, Sensei…" the Nanaya said with some amusement, though what his eyes revealed, none knew. "It seems that after a long drought, I will finally have a challenge."

**

* * *

**

**Underground Levels, Ashford Academy**

With a muffled groan, the magus Milly Ashford was torn prematurely from her healing trance, awakening with whispers of fog and mist lingering in her mind, eyelids fluttering open as she blinked once, twice, three times—and found herself looking into golden eyes, as slender fingers caressed her arm, tracing intimately familiar patterns that she recognized as—

'_The lines of my __Thaumaturgical Crest?_ _ And why is C.C. looming over me?_'

The blonde gave a start at this realization and tried to move, but found herself frozen in place, as the Sorceress backed away to reveal glowing runes dancing all around the blonde magus—some inscribed on the walls, floors, ceiling, some drawn onto her bare skin, some in the air itself.

"If you're wondering where you are, this is the infirmary of the Academy's underground complex," the First Magician said offhandedly as she continued a few adjustments. "Please don't move…I'm making a subtle alteration to your Crest's sub-circuits, and that sort of thing is always delicate work. Just to warn you, this might sting a bit."

A sharp _snap _sounded, as searing pain like molten starfire poured through her nerves, a torrent of magical energy tearing through her circuits, as if connected momentarily to a maelstrom of incredible power—and then vanished, as the runes winked out.

"The procedure is complete…you should be able to move again, though—"

"Ugh…"

Her muscles straining, Milly bolted upright, only to nearly collapse again from dizziness, steadied only by the Grey Witch's steadying hand on her shoulder.

"—I was going to warn you against sitting up too quickly, but that is meaningless now," C.C. noted, dissolving the remnants of the magic circle of runes that had facilitated whatever ritual she had conducted.

The Ashford heir was silent for a moment, as she quickly took stock of her surroundings and her physical state, finding to her surprise that her mana reserves were full—almost overflowing with power.

"How long have I been asleep?" Milly asked cautiously, wanting to be sure she knew what was going on.

"About a day, less than usual for mana exhaustion, though I did give you a small transfusion earlier," C.C. replied, to which the younger magus blinked. Then the Sorceress chuckled, her tone taking on a sly quality. "And if you are wondering whether I ravaged you in your sleep to give you mana, the answer is no."

"How did you manage to refill my mana reserves then?" the Ashford magus inquired, genuinely curious, since this implied that the green-haired Witch was more powerful a magus than she had thought. "And what did you do to my Crest?"

"Simply a bit of ley line manipulation," the First Magician revealed baldly, daring the blond magus to question it. "Let's just say you shouldn't be surprised if the morning news should report a few gas leak incidents around the concession."

Milly stopped cold, looking at the Grey Witch with narrowed eyes.

"…you have a technique that can drain others of their life energy?" the blonde asked incredulously, thinking about the sheer difficulty of a spell of that nature. _'The ritual…the runes would be complex enough for a wide-scale manipulation of that sort…' _"You didn't kill anyone, I trust?"

"Of course not," the Sorceress replied smoothly, "that would raise too much suspicion. And besides, it is so much more efficient to leave people alive for one's purposes."

Not quite the answer that Milly was expecting to hear, but then, magi didn't exactly follow conventional rules. What she did next would depend on how the Witch answered the next inquiry?

"Who?"

C.C. was silent for a moment, golden eyes boring into blue with an ageless power that even Milly flinched back from, before raising an eyebrow and nodding to herself.

"Some of the foot soldiers and Knights of the Britannian Military, though unfortunately, none in the Government Bureau, as that building seems to be shielded by a powerful boundary field," the Sorceress explained, as Milly relaxed just a little bit. "Did you think I would violate my magical contract and intentionally injure those under the protection of Ashford?"

Milly couldn't quite hide that that was what she had been thinking, as C.C. laughed softly.

"I am not foolish enough to sacrifice my magic circuits in that fashion," the green-haired Witch chided, a slight amount of mischief in her voice. "You should know that much. In any case, Britannia has played its hand, and I have simply attempted to even the odds in preparation for an operation of mine. If it could have been avoided, I would have done so, but this is war, and it is their misfortune for choosing the wrong side. Besides, this was the most efficient way of refilling all of our reserves, in case the Knight of Ten or the Dead Apostle should press their attack."

"…yes, duly noted," Milly agreed after a brief hesitation. When one's enemy was willing to resort to slaughtering their own people simply to make one look bad, or to create Dead Apostles, then…one had to look into alternatives. "And the modification to my Crest?"

A simple shrug, as C.C. walked over to the corner of the room and retrieved a box of pizza, which she carried with her to the blonde's bedside, offering her a slice. Milly accepted out of politeness, though she soon realized how ravenous she was as she took a bit into the warm food.

"A charm for protection against wind, so your element cannot harm you, as well as a bit of healing magecraft, which you lack," the Witch said at last, reaching for a piece of pizza herself. "Just think of it as…insurance."

Milly simply raised an eyebrow at this, as manipulation of a Thaumaturgical Crest was not something that one did lightly…and certainly not for something as simple as "insurance." Healing magecraft? And a spell that protected against wind?

"Who exactly are you?"the Ashford questioned, tilting her head, her blond locks of hair spilling to the side.

A quiet chuckle.

"Someone who time has long forgotten," was C.C.'s enigmatic response. "The enemy of your enemy…"

'…and thus, a friend' was left unspoken.

**

* * *

**

**Resistance Cell "Safehouse", Chiyoda Ghetto**

Kaname Ohgi sat bolt upright in bed, eyes snapping open to find that he was not in the strange graveyard where he had met Zero…nor was he wearing the black and silver uniform in which he had pledged loyalty to the mysterious vigilante. No indeed, the rebel leader was ensconced within the four walls of a room in one of his cell's safehouses, dressed in his normal attire.

"What…was that?" he muttered to himself, blearily blinking away tiredness from his eyes. "Was that a…"

And then he was broken from his thoughts by the loud and incredulous voice of Shinichiro Tamaki, who had apparently just woken as well, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"Yo, Ohgi…what the fuck was that, man?" the most boisterous of his resistance members exclaimed, wild-eyed and breathing hard. "How the hell did I get from running through a creepy forest, to a cemetery with Naoto's grave marker, to Zero and now back to…oh."

Tamaki seemed to realize at last that Ohgi—and the other members of the resistance cell that he had awoken during his outburst—were staring at him, their mouths fallen open in collective shock, before shutting with an audible _click._

"You mean…we all had the same dream?" Sugiyama asked slowly, arching an eyebrow in wonder. "Where we met Zero? That has to be more than coincidence."

"Or maybe it wasn't a dream…" Minami supplied. "Maybe we really did…"

"Then why did we end up here, in the same place we fell asleep?" Tamaki demanded, "Why are we in the safehouse instead of elsewhere?"

"…well, I suppose so, unless Zero took us there and brought us back for some reason," Ohgi concluded, brows furrowing in thought. "Still, that seemed all too realistic to be a dream, wouldn't you say?"

"As realistic as my sudden urge to order something from Pizza Hut…that must be Zero's doing too," Tamaki joked, getting a small round of laughs from the group, before—

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

—there was a rapping, rapping, rapping at the chamber door.

The terrorists froze, wondering if Britannian soldiers had somehow managed to track them down—but relaxed when nothing further was heard.

"You think that was—"

_Click!_

—the door swung open, revealing a young woman in the distinctive black and silver outfit that the resistance members remembered from their collective dream, a flowing amber scarf wrapped around her neck, bringing out the hazel of her eyes, and inexplicably, the headdress of a maid uniform. But more noticeable to the terrorists was the trio of kunai in one of the woman's hands—and the short sword in the other (with its twin worn at her side), a black blade inscribed with the yin yang symbol.

"A…ninja maid?" Tamaki voiced incredulously, speaking for the room as a whole.

"A servant of Master Zero, just as you yourselves," Sayoko Shinozaki uttered in reply, completely professional in demeanor and tone. "Come, Black Knights…there is much to be done if we are to survive the oncoming storm."

**

* * *

**

**Temporary Britannian Airbase, Cairo, Area 18 (Former Middle Eastern Federation)**

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Such was the sound of assault rifles snarling out molten metal death, sending waves of bullets hurtling towards an old man in a black trenchcoat, a weary traveler who had seemingly just wandered past the perimeter without anyone stopping him, a rich and hearty guffaw emerging from his throat in counterpoint to the cacophonous sound of destruction.

"Fools…"

_Fwhir!_

A blur, as a swarm of black beasts emerged from his form, hounds and jaguars and tigers (and snakes), rushing at the hapless footsoldiers who dared to open fire on them, destroying the concrete under their feet just by moving, as—

_Squelch!_

—sprays of blood and the wail of agonized deaths marked last that was seen of the impromptu airbase's first line of defense, as the feral pack tore out the throats of hapless humans, crushed their heads, devoured them whole.

"Hahahaha…."

Along with Damascus, this city had been one of those secured by Britannian troops, as a base for the refueling and resupply of their great aerial battleships, that which had given them an edge in the war against the MEF…and would presumably do so in whatever engagement was to come. Of course, while on the ground and uncrewed, these vessels were completely helpless, and so the Sea of Estray had thought this would be an ideal opportunity to strike a further blow to Britannian morale…and to launch a pre-emptive strike against Britannia, if they wished to strike the Euro Universe.

Here and there gunshots boomed, and automatic turrets opened up, hoping to slay the intruder and the strange animals he carried with him—but to absolutely no effect, as where one beast was slain, another simply arose in its place to rip apart whatever had attacked it.

"Fools…you actually think you have a chance?" the old professor intoned, his arm pointing forward, directing the savage beasts further into the facility—but first to stomp those turrets. "Realize your folly, Britannians!"

Impossibly, the man's coat ruffled like a cape and countless animals emerged, demonic silhouettes flying forth from the turbulent mass that was his torso.

"Charge!" a platoon commander ordered, rushing forward with rocket launchers and flamethrowers in hand—heavier weapons to destroy what they now recognized as a serious threat.

_WHOOSH!_

Trails of smoke and flame erupted as they opened fire, cheering as explosions confirmed a direct hit—only for their apparent target to stride out of the flames unscathed, with his coat and hair unruffled by the heavy weapons.

"What…on ear—AUUGHH!"

The last words of the platoon commander, as a shark inexplicably burst from the intruder's arm and surged through the air, biting him in two, with large serpents ambushing the others from behind, devouring their flesh and adding it to the primal chaos, their screams and moans music to the old alchemist's ears.

The rampage continued unabated, with the alchemist's black coat opening wide, and with the vile stench of beasts, creatures not seen in an age emerged from within—a giant elephant, a horse with a horn on its forehead, a huge, winged lizard, and creatures more bizarre still—a giant crab-spider of sorts larger even than the elephant—and these went after the ships.

"W-w-wha…who are you?" a simple technician that had been overlooked whimpered, as his friends and comrades were slaughtered one by one, plumes of fire blooming in the night as mythical beasts tore into helpless, unshielded airships, to the accompaniment of an appraising laugh.

"Hundreds of years ago, when I was human, I was once called Fabro Rowan," the alchemist intoned, head thrown back in merriment as he fed on flesh and blood, clearly enjoying the terror on the lone survivor's face as he approached and the technician tried to scrabble away. "But now, my name is Nero. I am darkness beyond the blackest pitch, deeper than the deepest night. I am the primal state from which all arose and to which all shall fade. I am Chaos, almighty among vampires…"

A massive shadow loomed, and the technician looked up to see the dread Dead Apostle Ancestor smiling serenely down at him, a most disturbing image amidst the screams of terror and explosions in the night.

"I am your death."

* * *

**A/N**: So, things have been hectic, but I managed to get a chapter up for my loyal readers. Many things are happening…the MEF has fallen to Cornelia, C.C. continues to plot and scheme, the Aozaki sisters meet (and surprisingly, neither dies), Lelouch begins his training (more of him and Mana in the next chapter), and…the Euro Universe strikes, in the person of Nero Chaos. Remember, reviews and feedback are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	15. Interlude: Möbius Link

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Tears of a Vampire**

_Tick-tick-tick-tock! Tick-tock-tick-tick! Tick-tick-tock-tick!_

In the suffocating darkness of the midnight hour, a troubled young man awakened with a start, lithe form tensed in anticipation of…something, senses on high alert, the gaze of his cold blue eyes sweeping through his tatami room to search for what it was he had reacted to. Oddly enough, save for a few pieces of well-used furniture and an old, unevenly ticking clock (which he was certain that the old man had bought just to annoy him), the room was empty—but still, his blood screamed, insisting that there was something unnatural nearby, something…_inhuman_.

A dull shudder raced down his spine, and the young man fought the urge to vomit as images of a night long ago stole unbidden into his mind: a child standing in forest clearing, surrounded by the corpses of his family, the choking scent of blood wafting from the crimson liquid pooled all around his feet. In the distance, a hulking figure stood, looking upon what he had wrought. And high above the scene of carnage, the lonely moon floated in the sky…

'…_the moon…was so…beautiful…'_

Such were the words the young man's lips shaped unknowingly, as he rolled to his feet with a near-silent _whump!_, hastily pulling on some clothes that he had left by his bedside, hand seeking and scooping up the comforting weight of an old knife—a well-kept weapon with the word "Nanatsu-Yoru" engraved upon its hilt—a blade that Hisui had presented him with not too long ago, apparently having found the knife after it had been carelessly left out by the old man.

_Wsh! Click!_

With a soft scraping that marked the shoji screen door of his "room" sliding open and shut, the last Nanaya slunk out into the darkness, his body somehow lighter as he made his way through the deserted courtyard towards the main building, the feeling of danger and a foreign urge mixing in the depths of his mind.

Darkness surrounded him, so deep that it was suffocating—with even the calming rays of moonlight hidden behind the clouds on this dreary night. The air was cold, a chill so deep that his skin felt like it would freeze, but his eyes were burning, pounding, aching, as if something was bound within, longing to be released.

He continued to walk, passing through the veil of trees that separated his building from the main compound, following the sensation of _wrongness_ that he felt.

_Sniff._

Shiki narrowed his eyes, barely containing a growl deep in his chest as the scent of fear and pain wafted to him on the wind, along with what seemed to be…arousal? It was very faint, but with his senses strained at the edge of perception, his nerves screaming as something dark and primal drove him onward, he could recognize it all the same…

'_Hisui…Hisui is in danger!'_

His pulse raced, veins and arteries springing into action, nerves splitting one after the other, spinal cord going berserk as he entered the main house, footsteps padding through the empty corridors in the dead of night as…

_Hurry.  
Hurry._  
_**Hurry.**_

Standing outside the door to a room he had never been in before, Shiki's heightened senses could make out strangely muffled sounds—animal-like grunts, heavy breathing, and…

'_Hisui…?'_

…muffled sobs.

His mind went blank, thoughts disappearing, fingertips trembling, but not from fear. For mixed with that familiar scent was…

_Makihisa._

There was no mistake. The old bastard was the source of the wrongness, and he was in the room with Hisui, hurting her, breaking her, viola—

_BANG!_

Without conscious thought, Nanaya moved, using a burst of nearly superhuman strength to smash the door from its hinges and speed towards the…_abomination, _the uncontrollable urge to kill singing in his veins.

_Ba-_

'_I must break it…'_

_-thump._

'_So it doesn't show any sign of its original form_…'

_Ba—_

'_I have to destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy, destroy!'_

_Thump._

Two heartbeats of time—just long enough for Makihisa to look up at the sudden disturbance, just enough of his sanity remaining to recognize the figure rushing towards him, knife in hand.

"You…" the old man said—or rather, tried to say, but Nanaya gave him no time to speak, much less draw breath, drawing his knife across the lines running through the demon's body.

_Stabbing.  
Slashing.  
Piercing.  
Driving.  
Splitting into pieces._

Completely and utterly, Shiki Nanaya 'killed' Makihisa Tohno, his adopted father, dark laughter welling up within his chest as he took another's life for the first time, baptizing himself in the blood of his ancestral enemy.

"Ha…haha…hahahahahahaha!"

It had been so easy, so pathetically easy…all he had had to do was trace the lines dividing the old man into pieces, running through the neck, the back of the head, from the right eye to the lips, upper right arm, lower right arm, right ring finger, left elbow, left thumb, left middle finger, left breast, from the rib to the heart, from the stomach to the abdomen in two places, left groin, left thigh, left leg, left toe, all of them.

In a mere instant, the head of the Tohno family had been brutally dismantled, reduced to mere scraps of tattered meat.

"…ki…"

As he broke from his euphoric trance, dark laughter petering out at last, the killer could hear a monotone voice, incredibly numb—but it wasn't coming from his own throat.

"…san?"

The broken voice repeated itself, and Shiki Nanaya found his attention drawn to a redheaded girl lying on bed, propped up on an elbow and looking at him with empty amber eyes, her naked body coated in sticky white semen and Makihisa's blood, with the demon hybrid's steaming entails beginning to spill out of the many pieces.

_Gulp._

'…_that's…not…Hisui…that's the girl in the window…Kohaku…'_ the murderer realized, his emotions in turmoil over what he had just done. Some part of him was excited at the killing, as if it was what he had been born to do, as if there were no higher pleasure than to simply destroy the life of another creature—and yet another part of him was utterly horrified that he had slaughtered a human being like some kind of helpless animal.

"Shiki…san?"

A third time, the girl repeated herself, the doll-like figure touching the blood pooled all around her and bringing her fingers to her mouth, her body jerking as she tasted the liquid that had up until now kept Makihisa Tohno alive, signifying the end of her contract with the old man.

The Nanaya's gaze swung towards her, looking upon Kohaku with the full force of his eerie blue eyes, eyes that glowed with an ominous light as they looked beyond the surface of existence into what kept things alive, taking a step towards her as—

—the girl flinched at the sudden movement, trembling under his scrutiny.

'_No…'_

Shiki's blood ran cold as he imagined SHIKI or Akiha looking at him with eyes like that, learning that their friend was a murderer who had killed their father, imagined Hisui looking at him with pain and fear, an image that shook him to the core. That was all it took to break the balance in the emotional tug of war between ecstasy and disgust in the murderer's mind, and with that, the last Nanaya turned on his heel and fled, flying from the room, the mansion, the Tohno estate, the city, as fast as his feet could carry him—though curiously enough, he never let go of his knife.

_Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop!_

Shoes slapped against pavement as the world passed by in a blur, grey concrete buildings blending one into the other, as Shiki ran with all his strength, his heart screaming, his breathing wild. Yet he didn't dare stop, because he felt as if he would go crazy if he did.

And so he ran, and ran, and ran, till at last…

_Whump!_

…his legs gave out from under him, and the demon slayer collapsed, form sprawled out boneless in the midst of a grassy field, extending as far as the eye could see. There was no one else here, no sign of human presence, not even signs of any animals. The wind did not blow; the grass did not sway, on this cold and lonely night.

'_A night much like the one long ago, when my family died before my eyes…'_

Even now, he could still remember how he had stepped into the forest clearing outside the Nanaya compound, only to find everyone lying on the ground—in pieces, with a hulking stranger standing in the sea of corpses, the look on the demon's face wishing harm to young Shiki. And he remembered, too, how someone had stepped in front of him, and was torn apart in his place—pungent lifeblood splashing on the young boy's face, as the person he called "mom" never spoke again.

'_Have I become a monster, like…him?'_

His energy gone, washed away in a wave of self-loathing, the young man dropped his knife, feeling like he simply wanted to drown in the ocean of green, to disappear forever.

But before that…

"Hey you," a woman's voice spoke into the darkness, as a shadowy figure loomed over him. "It's dangerous to just lie down in a place like this."

…as if to prove a point, a boot prodded his side lightly—though firmly enough that Shiki knew that the speaker could have really hurt him if she wanted to.

Unfortunately, with the shock and numbness of having just murdered someone still fresh on his conscience, Shiki Nanaya's mind was not up to playful banter, so all he could do was voice his confusion.

"Wha…?"

A slightly amused 'hmph' from the figure above.

"Heh…you're a bit slow, aren't you?" the grumpy redheaded woman declared, folding her arms as she looked down at him. "I can't exactly see you if you're lying down in the grass. Just so you know, I was this close to kicking you…so you'd better watch out."

A beat of time, as Shiki simply stared, not exactly used to someone treating him like this—all but certain that it was a delusion of his addled mind.

"Well, I suppose it must be fate that we met here, so you want to talk for a little while?" the woman spoke once more, tilting her head as she studied the boy and his eyes. "My name is Aozaki Aoko. What's yours?"

The redheaded Sorceress extended her hand to the teen with an odd cheerfulness that one might show an old friend—one that had been sorely lacking in the somber Tohno household.

'_Well, I suppose it can't hurt…'_

"Shiki. Shiki Nanaya," the murderer said after some hesitation, grasping her cool hand in return, as the woman sat down and the two began to talk.

…

Years later, as Shiki Nanaya opened his eyes once more to absolute darkness (as tended to be the case when Sion was asleep, meaning that he could only rely on his own eyes—eyes which were sealed off by bandages made of strips of burial cloth), he would smile ever so slightly, his expression showing a bit of the innocence and vulnerability that he kept secret from all but two people in the world—Aoko Aozaki, his teacher, and Sion Eltnam Atlasia, the woman sleeping peacefully beside him.

'_It figures that I would dream about the past upon finally setting foot in Japan again after so many years, a place with many memories for me…'_

That dream particularly, recalling the meeting with the magician as beautiful as the clear blue sky (he smirked then, apologizing mentally to his _sensei _for the reference to the color, which she didn't particularly care for), the night when the last Nanaya had discovered—and embraced—the truth of who and what he was.

'_Demon Hunter…'_

He had left Japan after that incident, not wanting to accidentally hurt SHIKI or Akiha, something which would have confirmed in his mind just what a monster he was. There was already one murder on his hands, and he didn't wish more that he did not wish to. So he travelled along with Aoko for a time, and later several brutal killings and assignments, events drew him first to the Burial Agency as an alternate, and then to Atlas, as he was dispatched to help hunt down a certain vampire.

"We cannot keep ourselves clean, for we were most likely never clean to begin with," the assassin murmured as he lay awake in darkness, repeating the words that the Magic Gunner had told him so very long ago. "For the sake of our lives and the world as a whole, there are times when we must do evil. That is the truth of this world, a law that none can escape from…"

**

* * *

**

**The Glowing Cage**

In her experience, the First Magician mused, there were powers in the world that held a far greater sway over mortals than logic, magecraft, or the evidence of their senses—emotions, for one, and beliefs, for another. Why, in their efforts to prove themselves true to their personal philosophies, mortals were often capable of incredible storms of loyalty, as some might put it, surpassing their limits for brief instants—instants long enough to rally others or turn the tide of battle.

''_Mortals are rather irrational beings, after all, clinging to tenuous chains of memories…' _Or so C.C. thought to herself as she munched on a slice of orange citrus pizza, enjoying the rather tangy and citrusy flavors of the ingredients that had been used in it. By now, her conversation with Milly Ashford was quite over, and so the immortal was poring over a battle plan to counter the Governor General's actions, taking into account her available resources, as well as any restrictions upon their use. _'This is troubling…even with the gas leak incidents I aim to create and the 'Black Knights' now at my disposal, the Britannians can still bring much more force to bear...'_

And over a larger area, to boot, since they were focusing enough of their army around the Tokyo Settlement to eradicate three ghettos at once—Saitama, Chiyoda, and Shinjuku.

'_I imagine that even Lelouch, for all his prowess in strategy, would find it difficult to coordinate a resistance on three different battlefields at once,' _the immortal mulled, none too happily. _'Especially when the enemy has overwhelming forces, including a prototype Knightmare and a Rounds level pilot. My only consolation is that the Irregulars have not chosen to deploy their own war machine…'_

Nevertheless, the Grey Witch was fairly certain that the magus killers called 'Irregulars' would have a presence there in one form or another, just as those pests had been present during in Shinjuku, if not in considerable numbers.

'_Of course t__hen, they were there simply to recapture me from the so-called terrorists, as the Irregulars were under the mistaken assumption that I was simply a magus with advanced regenerative properties…here, they are watching for the threat of a magus of considerable power...'_

Shinjuku had been bad enough as it was, as despite her immortality, C.C. did not relish the sensation of being burned, stabbed, struck by lightning, and all sorts of other delightful ways to suffer and die. But for the upcoming operation, it was highly likely that the Irregulars would be there in much greater numbers, considering the uproar caused by Zero, among other things.

'_Which means that it would be a bad idea to ask the Ashford heir to join this battle, as despite her obvious skill at magecraft, Irregulars are specially trained to combat and eliminate fellow magi…'_ the Sorceress silently sighed. _'Besides which, with the modifications to her Crest not completely stable yet, she would be better served resting, either within the lower level of the boundary field, or out of the Tokyo area entirely.'_

But as to available resources…

'_I have dispatched Sayoko to rendezvous with Kallen's old resistance group and eliminate any interlopers, as well as to contact the Yamato Alliance…and I will be sending a puppet to both Saitama and Chiyoda to facilitate coordination. The issue, then, is Shinjuku…'_

Given that Shinjuku had been half-destroyed in the battle to retrieve the "poison gas container" stolen by terrorists, it was far less defensible and had been abandoned by most resistance cells that C.C. knew of—meaning that strategically it was of less value than the other areas. On the other hand, in the wake of Zero's appearance, Shinjuku was now also a symbol of hope to the resistance—a symbol that Britannia could be beaten, that its leaders were not invulnerable.

'_Assuming that Bradley realizes this—a fairly easy assumption to make, given that the Knight of Ten is in fact a homicide genius, and loves to damage people's perceptions, there will be a large force there to ensure that Shinjuku is destroyed this time…'_

"It is even possible that he will go there personally—and where he goes, I am certain he will have the Lancelot as backup," the Grey Witch reasoned, though she knew that it was more likely that they would go to Saitama, given the known presence of the Yamato Alliance. "This is troublesome. To preserve hope, I must keep Shinjuku from being destroyed—but at the same time, I must marshal my forces to Chiyoda and Saitama, where much of the population is still intact. Hmm…I will contact Zelretch in the dreaming, but the Wizard Marshal only does things according to his schedule—and his liking. Perhaps Blue or the Asagami will be willing to render assistance…"

Unfortunately, C.C. could not simply drain away the souls of everyone in the Britannian Army, given that that would draw a great deal of unwanted attention—and that the Bureau was protected by an advanced boundary field, apparently one erected by the Emperor himself.

'_Still, if I personally take the field, I can use some of my abilities to even the odds…'_

Not all, certainly, as an army of hundreds of puppets might be somewhat obvious, and any exceptionally powerful Noble Phantasms were out of the question—no matter how effective they would be, they were all too noticeable, even by a mage some distance away (as C.C. had been reminded when her use of Caladbolg as a Broken Phantasm had been detected by the Ashford heir).

And of course, use of the Unified Language was an absolute last resort, since too many betrayals by one's own side would lead to a great deal of suspicion about supernatural intervention (and C.C. rather suspected that V.V. suspected her involvement in Orange's Folly…).

But even within those limits, there were many techniques which the Grey Witch could use—especially against non-magi, whose bodies had absolutely no defense against spells, whether illusionary or otherwise.

'_The easiest way to eliminate a few combatants would be to "project" air into the hearts of some foot soldiers, causing an embolism and cardiac arrest – the quickest and easiest way to kill. Then, there is shorting out their nervous systems or attacking them with a rain of bullets projected into existence through gradation air magecraft—preferably sakuradite bullets, so their bodies will be burnt beyond repair, lowering an enemy's morale.'_

Knightmares, C.C. knew, would be more difficult, considering their faster movement, and heavily armored exteriors, but—a liquid sakuradite detonator in their Yggrassil Drives could easily destroy them, if one was able to project one past a Knightmare's armor.

'_Though it would be much easier to simply sabotage the Energy Filler supply—provided that I could obtain access to it… '_

In effect, she could bypass shielding and sow chaos – and these were just with the more efficient options – but…

'_Even I can only be in a few places at once, which means…' _C.C. raised an eyebrow as she studied the map once more, noting the relative positions of the three areas. _'Chiyoda and Shinjuku are almost adjacent to one another, while Saitama is on the other side of the Settlement. Thus, it would probably be best to stay in Saitama, while I deploy what I can to the other areas, as they can reinforce one another more easily. And there, with the higher concentration of my enemy's forces, I can also begin showing Britannia what true terror means…'_

"For most fears, never dying, can eternal lie," the Sorceress intoned cryptically, a dark laugh welling up from deep within, as a cruel smirk slid across her lips. "And with the aid of dreams from strange aeons, even death may die."

* * *

**Madder Sky**

_Trudge. Trudge. Trudge._

It was the month of August in the year 2010 of the Imperial Calendar, when the Second Pacific War had just been launched, with the Holy Britannian Empire declaring war upon the neutral island nation of Japan, after its refusal to become part of the Chinese Federation. With negotiations for rights to Japan's supply of sakuradite (making up 70 percent of that available in the world) stalled, Britannia had decided to take decisive action to show the world what would happen to those who chose to defy it, introducing into combat the humanoid autonomous armored knight that would become known as the Knightmare Frame.

_Trudge. Trudge. Trudge._

The skies of Japan grew dark as the silhouettes of thousands of VTOLs blotted out the sun, some divebombing major cities from above, others unleashing swarms of missiles to take out any aerial defenses the country attempted to raise, and still others swooping low to deploy swarms of Knightmares Frames to suppress resistance on the ground, mercilessly crushing all those that dared to stand in their way.

_Trudge. Trudge. Trudge._

In the aftermath of a one-sided battle, three children gingerly picked their way through a desolate, wasteland strewn with thousands of corpses, the sickly-sweet odors of death and decay nearly causing them to vomit as they pressed on towards uncertain safety. Two boys and one girl, two Britannian, one Japanese, two able-bodied…and one both blind and paraplegic.

"Big brother, what's that smell?" the little girl asked, from her perch on her brother's back, as she could not walk on her own. One could have thought it obvious, but considering that she was also blind, and could not look around, it was not so much so. "It seems…strange..."

'_That's an understatement,'_ the aforementioned big brother thought to himself, taking care to watch his step as he made his way through the killing fields. He had never been the most physically fit individual, unlike his friend Suzaku, and now his lack of fitness was beginning to show as the trio marched onwards, hoping to find someone that would take them in. _'Father sent us to this distant land as hostages for peace—and then declared war, intending to sacrifice us for the sake of his own ambitions. He never cared about Mother, never cared about Nunnally or I, only wished to use us how he could.'_

But then, was that not the way of Britannia, that not all were created equal? That the strong would rule over the weak? And was that not especially the way of the Imperial Court, where those weak of mind or body were devoured by the strong, killed, or worse. Hence the methods that Britannia adopted for the line of succession—or how those in power ruthlessly used others for their own gains.

'_But Nunnally and I survived this assassination attempt, and so we will seek safety and hide for now, until at last the stars are right…' _the Black Prince fumed, silently seething over the many indignities he and his sister had suffered in the last half-year, ever since their exile. And now, in the war's wake, the two ex-royals had been reduced to refugees, without any place to call home, urchins who could barely eke out a living day after day.

"Don't worry, it's only garbage, Nunnally," Lelouch replied softly, hating the fact that he had to lie to his beloved little sister, but unwilling to horrify her with the truth, as he would do anything to protect her. It was for her sake, after all, that the former Eleventh Prince had confronted his father over why there had been no investigation into his mother's death and why he had not once visited Nunnally after her injury—only to be disinherited, disowned, and exiled. "We'll be clear of it soon, and then we can rest."

The trio continued on for quite some time, until at last darkness fell, and they came upon a broken down building that would serve as shelter for the night. Nothing terribly fancy, or like what they were used to, but…it was better than nothing. Two went to sleep, while one kept watch outside, looking up at the moon as it shone down overhead.

"I swear…" the exile growled, drawing upon all the raw anger and hate within his heart, the corrosive conflagration of pain and sorrow, of bitterness and loathing burning within his soul. "I swear, upon all that is holy and all that is dark, that I will obliterate Britannia!_**"**_

**Obliterate. Obliterate. Obliterate. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy!**

…

Feeling a murderous intent, the magus Lelouch Lamperouge leapt back from his "teacher", spinning with his staff as two spikes of ice erupted from the snowy field around him, nearly skewering him as the red-eyed white-clad succubus laughed.

"I'm surprised," White Len remarked, smirking at the panting exile, who had just managed to break out of one of her illusion techniques. "It appears your mind is quite resistant to forced recall of memories than most. I wonder if this is due to your talent—or merely to your Crest? Though, given your other abilities, it was probably a fluke."

The succubus followed up her statement by summoning a number of madder orbs of light to her hands and—

_Whirr-whirr-whirr!_

—loosed them, one after the other, sending these glowing projectiles hurtling towards the hapless magus, who—

"Auugh!"

_Splat!_

—in his efforts to evade the obvious attack, missed the fact that the succubus had changed the snow beneath his feet into a frictionless mirror of ice, and so fell flat on his ass, with several spikes of ice pinning him to the ground.

"Huhuhu…that was foolish, focusing so much on my obvious attack that you miss what is underneath—or perhaps underneath the underneath," White Ren chided, smirking down at the fallen magus. "I will concede that you managed to predict the pattern of my energy orb attack and that you have a talent for mind magic…but you have far to go to become a proper magus."

With a sharp gesture from the petite succubus, the magus-in-training was sent flying backwards through the air, flipping twice before smashing into the snow with an unceremonious _thud-skid, _his staff knocked away from him. It was a few minutes before the raven-haired prince managed to force himself unsteadily to his feet, and tough he stood unsteadily, his eyes shone with determination and defiance.

"Making a pact with the World is starting to look more attractive with each lesson," Lelouch muttered under his breath, channeling forcing magic energy into his circuits as he faced his sadistic instructor. "But if I give up here, I will never gain the power I need…"

"The power to obliterate Britannia, yes," White Ren completed, looking at the dark magus appraisingly, before turning her face away with a sniff. "Hmph. For a Contractor of the Grey Witch, you're something of a disappointment. B-but I suppose you are doing well after only a day or so."

The two stood in silence for a long moment, looking warily at the other.

"Again?" White Ren asked at last, breaking the moment.

A curt nod…

_WHOOSH!_

…and then the landscape exploded into a world of pain, as a lotus of razor ice blossomed around the white-clad succubus, each of the mana-infused petals hurling themselves at the already tired exile, who once more, was forced to evade this new, more brutal onslaught.

"Once we finish with sensing, then we can move onto offense," the pale demon familiar advised sweetly, spurring on her student, though she smiled inwardly, knowing that it would be quite some time before he managed to get this down to her satisfaction. "Remember, it's all up to you how far you advance."

'…_that World Pact is looking _very _attractive right now.'_

**

* * *

**

**Crooked Diaries**

For someone who was usually known as the Queen of Ashford, and the very "sun" of campus, Milly Ashford was unusually quiet after her talk with the enigmatic C.C., sitting quietly in the Student Council Clubroom as she pondered the many mysteries surrounding the other magus.

'_The green-haired magus has implied, on several occasions, that she was an ally of the house of Lamperouge, which would make her considerably older than myself, despite her appearance,'_ the blonde reflected, pursing her lips in thought as her hands absently filled out forms that the Student Council had left undone these last few days. _'And given her advanced talents in magecraft, including ley line manipulation and the ability to alter a Crest, and her usual hesitance to display her skills, I would wager is likely under a sealing designation.'_

But if that were true, then what had the woman been sealed for? Rune magecraft? No, that was fairly unpopular with the Association, being more associated with the Sea of Estray. Reinforcement and Alteration? Unlikely as well, as those were skills that could be learned by most with enough study. Then perhaps her technique in altering extant Thaumaturgical Crests?

'_The Association would certainly be curious about C.C.'s ability to do such a thing…or to manipulate the Crest of another, bypassing the defenses of their circuits. Now, it is possible that she used the power of the ley lines in a grand ritual to modify the knowledge stored in the Crest, or its efficiency, but…'_

Milly closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, mumbling the activation key '_**Guts'**_ as she began rifling through the spells and techniques stored within the circuits of her Crest, trying to see if something had been added since the last time she cataloged its contents.

'_Three new items – a charm for protection against wind, of which lightning is a sub-element, a minor healing spell for smaller injuries, and—a technique to use layers of compressed and gyrated wind as a bounded field? This is quite an advanced technique, distorting light and rendering what is within invisible…able to be used on a weapon, deployed as a protective wall, or as a distance attack.'_

Milly blinked, shutting down her magic circuits as she shook her head, startled by what she had found. Certainly these valuable new techniques would be of use to her in her combat style (especially the charm offering protection from wind-based spells, which would be a certain advantage if she was experimenting…say, with wind-based bounded fields, and happened to mess up), but the Ashford heir was quite curious as to where the older magus had learned all of these herself.

'_And why C.C. is willing to pass this knowledge on so easily...' _the Ashford heir mused, not for the first time confused about the Witch and who the hell she was. Since they did have a contract, and their aims did coincide, Milly was willing to accept that C.C. wasn't likely to be immediately or overtly hostile, but what kind of magus was she?

"I'd better get to work," the blonde mumbled to herself, pulling out a requisition form or two from the intimidating stack of paperwork before her—something she normally had Lelouch do, only he wasn't available at the moment. "I have a trip to plan for the Student Council…"

'_Lake Kawaguchi, eh? I suppose that is far enough away from any immediate conflict to keep everyone safe…'_

**

* * *

**

**Sands of Fate**

If one were to ask Sion Eltnam Atlasia what the most significant moment of the past was, the Director of Atlas would likely respond with "the mission resulting in the defeat of the Dead Apostle Ancestor called TATARI", the dread foe originally known as Zepia Eltnam Oberon, an Alchemist of Atlas responsible for the downfall of the Eltnam name. And of course, as would be expected of Atlas' finest mind, the Director's statement would be absolute truth—though not, perhaps, for the reasons one might think.

'_It has been many years since that mission…' _Sion thought to herself as she lay quietly in bed, her face involuntarily nuzzling against the warmth of her lover's chest. _'Since I met…'_

"So you are awake, Sion," Shiki Nanaya's voice murmured teasingly by her ear, having sensed the slight increase of tension in the alchemist's body that marked a return to consciousness. "Pleasant thoughts? Perhaps those that tend to throw off your calculations?"

"Hmph…what other kind could I have in the company of an irrational assassin like you, whose very presence throws my calculations into disarray, Shiki?" the purple-haired alchemist murmured almost fondly, scoffing even as she smiled ever so slightly.

"Still the same as always, Sion," the killer sighed, chuckling ever so slightly. "Trying to predict what I will do, which you should have learned is futile by now."

"Nonsense…with a large enough sample of data, I should be able to redefine the probability values I apply to your various possible act—ha…haha…hahaha," the Director of Atlas began, but broke off into full on laughter as the last Nanaya viciously attacked, using every ounce of nearly superhuman skill to force her into submission through…tickling. "Haha…stop Shiki…ha…hahahaha….ha...hahahaha….."

The Dust of Osiris could not let such a slight go unanswered, of course, so she returned the attack with gusto, with the tickling, groping, and sliding slowly changing into something more intimate, laughter into moans and heavy breathing, until several minutes later, both lay quiet and spent (and entirely disheveled) against one another in something of an afterglow.

"Still think you can predict what I will do?" Shiki Nanaya asked softly, his arms wrapping around his lover's curvy frame. "Or will you concede that that is a task beyond your level?"

"As an Alchemist of Atlas, I do not accept a battle without the possibility of victory," Sion countered, the back of her hand tracing the lines of the assassin's cheek. Then, her voice turned coy and sultry. "And why do you believe that you won that last exchange? As I recall…you enjoyed it just as much as I…"

"Heh heh…touché," the killer chuckled, for once at something of a loss for words, as his thoughts were elsewhere. "A draw, then, Sion?"

A soft sigh from the alchemist.

"…I suppose that is the only concession I will be able to extract from you in this situation, so yes, for now," the Director of Atlas agreed, relaxing as she curled against him. "I know well how stubborn you can be when you choose to violate the laws of conventional wisdom—or anything else you desire to."

"Oh, I didn't think you minded my 'violation'," Nanaya joked not-so-innocently, gesturing to the two of them and their current state of dress, as Sion flushed violently, Shiki's nature still getting to her every once in a while. "My victory then…"

A few moments of near-silence, broken only by the even breathing of the two lovers, and then a sigh from the Eltnam scion.

"You and your uncertain victories, always so reckless…" Sion murmured, recalling the first time she had met the assassin, many years ago. "Even when you were briefly affiliated with the Church as a reserve member of the Burial Agency, and…"

"…ah, the fight against the TATARI that later turned into a three-way battle between the Night of Wallachia, Gransurg Blackmore, and ourselves. So you remember," Nanaya spoke, frowning a little as he recalled those frantic weeks, long ago. "Then again, you commented on my recklessness several times during that mission."

"So I did, and so you were…" the alchemist answered, remembering how she and the assassin had become friends of a sort, since he had actively sought her out for more than just information on the mission. And she remembered too, a harrowing incident that had happened during that mission, when she had been injured by a TATARI summoned replicant of a demon hybrid—and how Shiki Nanaya had thrown himself into battle against what was most certainly a superior foe, without hesitation, without pause, snatching her out of the way of a monstrous crushing arm—and receiving a glancing blow to the shoulder for his trouble that nonetheless nearly disabled it.

…

"Why?" Sion had croaked in disbelief upon finding that she was not dead—every one of her calculations having told her that there was no way to escape a foe of that magnitude—and that Shiki had risked his life and taken injury in order to save her. "It is illogical…to risk your existence to preserve mine. Even injured, at your optimal state, the odds of you successfully managing to stop a demon hybrid would be miniscule—as you are now, the probability of victory…"

"—it's not impossible, right?" Nanaya had asked, his tone more grim and serious than Sion had heard in the weeks since she met him. "Then I'll bet on that chance…besides…I swore upon my blade that I would be your shield…and I have a score to settle with this…monster."

"That is just pointless sentiment, Shiki…" Sion had protested, but the assassin had simply shushed her and set her down, before whirling about, tossing his glasses to the ground and drawing his knife, Nanatsu-Yoru.

"We are kindred spirits, Sion," the assassin had said simply. "Both of us fled our pasts, that we might tame the beasts within…but it seems that we can no longer keep running. So, watch my battle and believe in my fate…as I believe in you. If nothing else…I will protect you."

"Wait, Shiki, the limit—"

_Whirr!_

But he was already gone, disappeared in a blur, eyes glowing an icy blue as he sped towards his demonic opponent, the assassin charging towards the figure he knew as an inescapable bringer of death, weapon in hand.

_Whoosh!_

"_Kuaaaah!"_

The Nanaya bellowed from his neck and twisted his body, avoiding the lightning fast hit to his front, and immediately dodged a second blow from a monstrous leg. If he was caught by the demon, his head would be crushed—there probably wouldn't be any pain. And so he did not fear death—he only feared losing someone else.

"So, you wish to kill me, monster?" Shiki asked, his voice a malevolent calm like the eye of a hurricane—the calm before the strongest winds hit. "Then let us kill each other, _**Kishima Kouma**_!"

A hurricane of blows as sparks flew, the steel of the knife glancing against the steel of demonic magic.

_Whoosh!_

Again, Nanaya gave everything he had to avoid the arm that would otherwise crush the life from his body. Again, and again, and again—the ridiculous attacks continued, fueled by fire and force.

"Haaa…Haaa…"

The distance was close enough that the assassin could feel his enemy's breath, almost close enough to hear his foe's heartbeat—and from that distance, the two relentlessly struck at one another, until—

_Crunch!_

—Nanaya was tossed away as the monster pursued, arm raised to end the demon hunter's existence, when—

_Slice!_

—the assassin sprung from the ground to meet his attacker, knife slashing through the arm—no, through the arm's line—

"Hnng?"

—and before the demon hybrid could realize its arm was cut off, the knife of the Nanayas was plunged into the point on Kishima Kouma's chest.

"Wha…?" The replicant of the Crimson Red Vermillion inquired slowly, looking down at the face of his killer…only to blink as he stilled. "I see…you exceed your father in talent, Nanaya…"

A flash of the knife once again, and the TATARI Kouma disappeared into nothingness, as Shiki Nanaya went back to Sion's side, to find that she had indeed watched the battle, and was eying him strangely.

"Satsujinki?" the alchemist inquired flatly, looking to the assassin's knife—and his glowing eyes.

"No, wrong Shiki. Wrong eyes as well," Nanaya had replied somewhat flippantly, shaking his head as he sobered slightly, lips twisting into a slight grimace. "An incredible coincidence that _he_ was there."

"Not really coincidences but an inevitable consequence, given the TATARI's nature…manifesting one's fears…" Sion pointed out, to which the assassin had simply nodded.

"Now, shall we deal with the specter of your past, Sion?"

A nod of assent, and off they had gone.

The actual fight against Zepia Eltnam Oberon - a rather complicated three-way battle between the Church Knights, Zepia (who had summoned several replicants—including a TATARI clone of Aoko Aozaki), and Gransburg Blackmore (the Lord of the Black Wing who had used his reality marble _**Nevermore**_ to cancel the TATARI's and reduce Zepia to temporary mortality) had been very vicious, but in the end, the alchemist and the assassin had claimed victory with the help of the Lord of the Black Wing.

…

"I never did thank you for saving my life, did I?" Sion muttered, something amused that she had allowed something so important to slip for so long. "Or for…"

'_Being my first real friend, my first companion, my first…'_

She shook her head, not wanting to complete the thought, in case Nanaya somehow read her mind and grew too cocky over the knowledge. She was relatively sure that their Ethelite connection only shared senses, but one never did really know…

"It is enough thanks that you are who you are…Sion."

**

* * *

**

**The Edge of Emptiness**

The girl's voice echoed through the brightly lit hallway, notes of curiosity and mischief wafting from a dim office as she read aloud, deeply immersed in the mostly written book that had been tucked away in the shelves—a manuscript that had not been sent to the publishers as of yet.

"And so, betrayed by the knights he had led to victory, his beloved sister lost in battle, abandoned by his closest friends, the warlock fled his citadel, seeking to drown his despair in a final confrontation with the evil emperor—his father."

The illustration on the page showed two columns of enchanted armored golems lined up, kneeling and saluting the Grey Warlock with their spears, forming an arch for him to walk under.

"'It wasn't me who was wrong," the warlock whispered to himself, having stolen an enchanted suit of armor to bear him away. "It was the world…if anyone wishes to stop me, let them try. If there is anyone who can go beyond my despair...!"

While most of the books in the office were children's stories, this one was not, falling among the other half whose contents left children far behind. This should have come earlier, but the book was "The Edge of Emptiness" by a certain Kamekura Mitsuru, a novice picture book author and detective who worked for the Ryougi family—a darker fairy tale of sorts…and yet it was one of Mana Ryougi's favorites.

In this place, she was about ten, with long black hair that flowed like water, and though she had the sweetness characteristic of youth, her deep blue eyes shone with the light of maturity. She favored blouses that were completely out of fashion these days, but she wore them well, with a sense of nobility that was untouched by the vogue.

The raven-haired girl continued her recital, her quiet voice going up and down, as she read onwards, the expression on her face pensive as she recounted the Warlock's clash with the world, until the very end when he died to leave the world a better place, with only one person mourning his death, the rest forgetting that he had ever been anything but the embodiment of darkness.

"A lone tear shimmers on the edge of emptiness, wobbles, teeters over, as yet another lonely soul joins the garden of sinners…and the world yet turns."

With a sigh, Mana finished, closing the book and blinking. After she put the book in her hands on the shelf, the pale girl turned to face me.

"Ahem," a man coughs—Kamekura Mitsuru, whose office this was.

"Oh, you were here, Mitsuru-san?" the girl asked simply. "I thought you left."

"As I've said many a time before, if I had left, I would have locked the door," the older man said, shaking his head slightly, as if dazed by the sight of the girl, looking forward to her future, yet wishing her to remain as she was forever—though nothing ever remained constant. Then again, to him she was bad luck, considering who her mother was—the boss of Mifune—as well as the Satsujinki who had killed his ability to see the future years prior. "Are you here without permission again, Lady Mana?"

The last part was rather resigned, as if the man had gotten used to expecting the worst by now—and hoping that the grim reaper he worked for wouldn't kill him.

"Of course," Mana replied, hopping from her chair to give a mock curtsy. "I snuck away from lessons again to have a look at the manuscript for your newest book—"

A groan from the beleaguered author and detective, as Mitsuru felt the strong urge to bury his head in his hands.

"…oi, you really do want to get me killed, don't you?"

The girl pouted, looking mildly displeased.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I could never do something so pointless…and besides, who would write new books for me?" she asked all too sweetly, her smile slightly sly. "And you know I don't like being called "Lady Mana" since it sounds so…formal. It makes me feel as if you're being malicious and trying to force distance between us. Call me 'Mana-kun', like when we first met."

"That again?" the man sighed, used to her antics by now. "Why don't we stick with just Mana then?"

The girl's expression brightened, as she gave an appreciative nod.

"Yep yep, that will do, Mitsuru-san," she chirped, lips twisting wryly as she glanced over at the manuscript she had just read. "Edge of Emptiness wasn't too bad, by the way. Not quite as good as Tears of a Vampire, but far better than your second book, which was practically a waste of resources."

The girl put a finger to her lips uneasily while she searched the bookshelf.

"Do you have an idea for what the warlock's last line should be yet?" Mana inquired, tilting her head to the side, luxuriant black hair spilling as she did so. "That's what was missing…"

"Actually, now that I think about it, yes…" the author reflected, drawing upon his own experience with close encounter with death. "I was thinking: 'I…destroy worlds. And I create…worlds.'"

"Ah, that sounds like something mother would do," the young Ryougi whispered. "Destroying and creating…"

"Where there is one, there is always the other," the bespectacled detective replied, giving a faint smile. "Now go home, if you please…I don't feel like being pushed around by a ten-year old kid today."

"Alright…but only for today, Mit-su-ru-san," the girl answered cheekily, as she replaced the book on the shelf and padded out the door.

…

Elsewhere, the comatose form of Mana Ryougi began to stir, a groan escaping from her mouth as her body arched, and the Satsujinki opened her eyes, her gaze hazily drifting about the room, only to find that she was in what seemed a rather spartan room—and that she was not alone, as someone sat sleeping beside her, holding her hand.

_Blink._

'_Weren't my arms cut off by that vampire?' _the assassin asked silently, puzzled, though an answer to her question came as the sleeping figure stirred as well, and blue eyes looked deep into blue.

"So you're awake at last, Mana," Azaka breathed, reflecting that the Satsujinki looked much more like a child of her and Mikiya than of Shiki and Mikiya. "I'm so glad…"

"So it would seem," the assassin teased, though her face softened slightly as she saw the genuine concern on her aunt's face. "After all, I'm all that's left of father, I suppose."

"Not only for that…" the fire user corrected, though there was a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks. Then, she remembered something that she should probably explain. "Ah, I should mention that you had replacement limbs made by—"

"Touko, right?" Mana asked, to which Azaka simply nodded. "And you are to help me with my physical therapy?"

Another nod.

"And once you're ready, Shiki Nanaya will be training you in how to better use your eyes," the fire user filled in, with a faint smile. Azaka Kokutou had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity at the name of the other assassin of Mystic Eyes, as apparently he looked much like her beloved brother. "Do you think you'll be ready soon?"

"Just a bit, if that is fine?" Mana inquired, looking at Azaka with all the charm of her youth. "It's nice being around someone from my past again."

A comforting squeeze of Mana's hand, and a simple smile.

"Alright…"

And for the moment, the rest, was silence.

* * *

**A/N**: Just something of a short interlude with the past of a few characters, while things continue in the present. Thanks for reading, as always, and reviews are highly appreciated.


	16. Overlooking View

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

**

**Training Field 69 - Θ Desolate Frozen Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 8_

"Unh, Ahn, Nghh…"

Grunts and groans of exertion escaped unbidden alongside ragged breaths from between tightly clenched teeth, beads of sweat dripping from a certain dark-haired prince's brow as he raised and lowered himself with obvious effort in a secluded clearing miraculously free of snow, his body moving up and down in a steady rhythm, lean arms shaking as the magus fought to keep himself from collapsing to the ground.

"Master…I…" the exile began, panting between each word, but fell silent, unable to swallow his tattered pride long enough to do the wise thing and ask a certain petite succubus to grant his body some much needed relief. "Hnnggg…."

"Hmm, what's that?" the white-clad version of Ren purred teasingly, meeting the winded magus' eyes with a look of ill-concealed _shadenfreude_. "I won't understand if you don't tell me properly…"

"Uunghhh…." Another moan tore free of Lelouch's throat, his face contorting with the intensity of his exacting training regimen as he pressed doggedly onwards, his obvious inexperience and lack of stamina showing as laziness warred against ego for dominion – with the victor having to face off against his fear of what his sadistic "master" might do to him if he stopped before she was completely satisfied.

'_While I know that "Master" won't kill me, these are far more ways to make someone suffer besides a slow and painful death—she might have the form of an innocent little girl in a pure white dress, but she is truly a demon in every sense of the word…'_

Up and down, up and down Lelouch continued to move, his senses slowly growing numb as he plunged headlong towards his body's limit…

"Mmm, that's right…you're finally using your hips properly, boy…" the petite succubus whispered seductively into Lelouch's ear, the sultry voice and sensation of hot breath mingling with the whispered touches, aches, and such as a shudder tore through his body, his mouth falling open in an "O" of surprise. "Now, just a little more, boy, just a little more…"

"Ungh…I…"

Once more he moved, aiming to satisfy the seemingly insatiable Mistress Ren before his body wore out, drained to the last drop of moisture by her constant demands, gritting his teeth and trying to bear the sensations coursing through his body, arching his back as a strange warmth built in his back, his sides, his chest…

"I can't…"

It was grating for a firm believer in the power of mind over matter to admit, but after some time, the exile didn't know if he could force himself to continue for much longer, as even his famed self-control had their limits when it came to physical urges.

"That's…no...I have to stop or…aahhhhnnn…."

A groan, almost desperate in its intensity…

"Huhuhu…or what, boya?" White Ren breathed with a knowing smirk, her soft voice taking on a darkly insistent, almost frenetic quality as she goaded him mercilessly, her slender fingers tracing the curve of his back so that the magus nearly cried out, pushed closer and closer towards the edge. "If your body cannot endure this much, you won't have a chance against my more…_advanced_ techniques, will you? Just a little more…just a little more…now!"

"Ahhh…."

No more words now, just a strangled cry as Lelouch's entire body quaked, torso and limbs trembling as he arched backward, his famous control eroded away by physical needs as he was allowed to end his torment at last. Involuntarily, his hips thrust forward a few last feeble times as he froze in place, still shaking as if trying to follow the pattern of movement White Ren had pressured him into matching, then halting as his arms gave out, his body going limp, collapsing with a muffled _whump_ into a quivering heap.

A few minutes of heavy breathing, Lelouch could feel a prodding in his side—and when he failed to respond, a more forceful shove that pushed him over onto his back, where he looked blearily up at the slender form of the demon familiar who had so worn him out, purple eyes meeting a mischievous red as eyelids grew heavy.

"So, was that as good for you as it was for me?" the succubus murmured, a lazily satisfied smirk evident on her aristocratic face—at least for the moment.

"You…are a devil…" Lelouch managed to summon the strength to croak out in defiance, before an overwhelming fatigue unlike any he had known before stole over him, eyelids closing, closing…closed, as he fell asleep, utterly vulnerable to the demon beside him.

White Ren, for her part, seemed more amused than anything else, leaning over to brush aside a bit of her student's hair from his face.

"No, just a demon," the familiar corrected, though the young magus could not have possibly heard her in his unconsciousness. "Silly magus, I told you to call me…_Master." _

A moment of silence…

"Besides, how do you expect me to teach you any spells or advanced techniques if you collapse from doing a few pushups?"

…broken an instant later by peals of a succubus' laughter.

**

* * *

**

**Roof, Café Ahnenerbe**

Like a wayward lover creeping guiltily into bed after a drunken night with his paramour, dawn stole over the Tokyo Settlement, with the morning's cold grey light hardly any solace to those whose hearts were troubled by the occurrences of the past few days, many of whom had found sleep fleeting, with their minds replaying the shocking scene from the morning before—the crater in the ground where the Britannian Victory Memorial Center had once stood, erased from existence along with all those within.

So were the thoughts of those hurriedly scampering along the streets on their way to work, trying to spend as little time outside as they could—even as futile as they knew their efforts to protect themselves would be. For if Zero could eliminate a gathering of nobles, protected both by their private bodyguards and by a detachment of the army, what could possibly stop him from coming and killing them in their sleep—or blowing up their places of work.

Yes, some had managed to catch a moment or two of rest, but most had not, with some staying up tweaking battle plans and coordinating preparations for the coming operation, some beaten half to death under the guise of training, some on a murderous rampage, and at least one adjusting to an acute case of desynchronosis (a condition, which in another world would have called "jet lag", though not here, as jet planes were not too commonly available for civilian use).

"Interesting…_" _Sion Eltnam Atlasia murmured to herself, perched on the roof of a rustic-looking café with her eyes closed, apparently reading the mood of the city through the open palms of her hands—or rather, through the nearly invisible threads emanating from the golden bracelets around her wrists. "The city is restless, with shadows lurking in the hearts of the populace. There is a great unease present, as everyone in the settlement senses something is wrong…"

The Alchemist of Atlas slowly opened her eyes at this, her lips pursing thoughtfully as she regarded the people below, recalling the last time she had felt something like this.

_Fear. Unease. Insecurity._

"Everyone in the settlement senses something is wrong—worrying at what will come, movements suffused with a strange stiffness, like a fish suffocating in an aquarium," the Dust of Osiris waxed poetically, remembering some similarities to the methodology and effects of the TATARI. "Rumors, spinning out of control, victims increasing, a curfew…a furtive atmosphere, with humans scurrying about like rats on a sinking ship, actions fraught with an air of futility and helplessness. The image of a crater, streets running with blood, a masked figure with head drawn back in maniacal laughter—and one word…"

The alchemist's eyebrows inched upward ever so slightly as she mouthed the name near silently, a whisper against the wind.

"…_Zero_…"

* * *

**Training Area 44, Θ Eternal Sacred Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 18_

For more than 2 weeks in Zelretch's special "training areas", Mana Ryougi had lain in a comatose state, her consciousness once more drifting through the shapeless void of shadows, drawn closer and closer to the spiral of origin that some called「」, weaving between the strands of a great web reaching out into what she instinctively understood to be the world she knew.

'_So it seems that I failed to defeat the Dead Apostle, and so was driven to the point of death…' _the Satsujinki thought idly as time passed in that endless void, with only the whisperings of the spiral itself (which sounded suspiciously like what she remembered of her mother's voice), calling her her closer and closer to the ultimate origin. _'And once more I have returned to this place…this place I had never wanted to see again…wearisome, ever so wearisome…'_

And then the whisperings had ceased, with a powerful but familiar force taking cold of her consciousness and easing it away from the heart of the swirl, pulling her back into a world of her memories—from which she had awakened to the sight of her aunt Azaka sitting by her bedside, her internal injuries sealing up with the surfeit of life force being poured into her through…

'…_my connection with the Grey Witch,' _the assassin had mused silently, enjoying the moment of quiet upon her return to wakefulness. _'Twice now I have been brought back from the void by the Magic styled "Denial of Nothingness"…the Witch is truly fearsome in her own way…reminding me of mother sometimes.'_

After that initial stirring, it had taken a day or so before Mana was up to resuming physically demanding activities once more, but those days had been useful too, as the Satsujinki had begun to acquaint herself with the replacement limbs that Touko had crafted for her.

'_Which I suppose makes me rather like mother,'_ the Ryougi mused with something almost like a smile, though the girl's expression was tinged with a hint of bitterness as she remembered the woman who had given birth to her—a woman who had also possessed the Chokushi no Magan – the mystic eyes of death perception. _'Except that _she_ managed to defeat her enemy in spite of losing her arm…and I did not…'_

True, the circumstances behind the battles they fought had been rather different, what with one caught up in events caused by a rogue magus who wanted to reach Akasha, and the other caught up in events caused by a rogue Sorcerer who wanted to—

'…_on second thought, there is no excuse for failure,'_ Mana mentally snarled, deciding to not to think about the differences in their situation. As things were now, the Satsujinki clearly still had a ways to go before she managed to surpass her mother, as she had dreamed of doing for many years before the invasion took the lives of everyone who had been in the compound that day. _'Not when I was but a child, and certainly not now…'_

Which was why the last Ryougi was currently throwing herself into her training/therapy, testing herself against her aunt Azaka in hand to hand combat, the woman who in many ways seemed to be a portrait of who she might one day become.

'_My mother's rival, of sorts…'_ the assassin thought with a small amount of amusement, recalling the various bits of information that Touko had let slip during the few moments they had spent together as a child. _'But also…her vitriolic_ _best friend?'_

Admittedly, it was a rather odd relationship, but Mana supposed that she was the last person in the world who should be speaking of strange relationships, considering her own past and present, adrift on the winds of fate, belonging to no era in particular—as Satsujinkis were wont to do, distancing themselves from the world since they could see how very fragile things were, how ephemeral the world was that most took for granted.

'_In that sense, the Witch and I are kindred spirits, individuals who know just how temporary and fragile everything is, her through her many years of existence—and myself through the mixed blessing/curse of my eyes. And as for the future…who knows?' _Mana reflected, thinking back to something her mother had said once, something she said she learned from Touko. _'It is a void to me, though it is said that one can fill a void with whatever one desires…'_

And so the assassin and the flame magus had travelled through one of Zelretch's convenient dimensional gates onto the bulwarks of a strange castle in the middle of a forest, rather surprised by the extravagance they had discovered in these areas—and the utter complexity, so unlike what one would expect of a mere training area.

'_A castle with the crimson moon overhead? Hot springs amidst snow? Large multi-terrain training grounds?' _Mana noted, raising an eyebrow at what she saw as her deadly gaze swept over the area. '_This place seems more like a_ _resort than anything else—and there's a high level of magical energy flowing through here as well, which no doubt makes it easier for one to practice spells—and to refill one's reserves. And I can see autonomous magic dolls as well, which no doubt take care of…wait…' _

'_I see that C.C. was here at some point,' _Mana mused, recognizing the mechanical servants moving around (as she had seen their like dealing with maintenance for the subterranean complex of Ashford Academy), as well as a strange architectural style that seemed to reflect the Witch's preferences. _'Or could it be that she was the one who originally built this place, which Zelretch then moved into one of his pocket dimensions?' _

An interesting thought, though it was one that the assassin classified as one that she could ask the Witch about later, since it wasn't something that she needed to know to refine her combat abilities. On the other hand…

"…that old man is really on another level as far as magi are concerned," Azaka muttered, glancing down at her hands with a somewhat distant expression. "It almost makes me a little jealous…as much as I train or study, the only magecraft I will ever be able to use is that of fire, since I don't have any magic circuits. Thus, I will never become anywhere near as powerful as Touko…or the old man who trained her."

"…if you put it like that, I can't use magecraft at all, Az-a-ka-san," the Satsujinki remarked wryly, the corners of her mouth drawing up in amusement. "And neither could Mother…who I hear you pushed down once or twice."

The fire magus huffed and looked away, picking up her pace as she headed towards one of the training fields, grumbling something under her breath about how knife-wielding assassins who possessed an absurd power that should only exist in fairytales never functioned well in society or understood what subjects to steer clear of, to which the last Ryougi simply smirked.

And so it was that after a few minutes of silent walking only underscored by the soft _scht-scht_ sound of their feet on the sand, and a strange humming when they passed through the rippled surface of a looking glass, they arrived at last in a moonlit clearing surrounded by trees, at which point, Azaka turned to face her niece, raising a gloved hand—

_Whoosh!_

—which erupted suddenly into flame, the flickering light playing across Azaka's face, throwing her stern features into sharp relief.

"Well then, shall we begin?" the older magus asked, reflected fire dancing in her eyes as she regarded her younger doppelganger. "I won't use my advanced flame abilities if you don't rely overmuch on your Chokushi no Magan, agreed?"

A curt nod, and then two kimono clad forms blurred into motion, with hands, elbows, legs coming about in a fierce exchange of blows, each testing themselves against the other in a whirling dervish of strikes and evasions—each faintly smiling all the while.

'_Well well, Mana…shall we see just how much you have grown since seven years ago?'_

* * *

**Student Council Clubhouse, Ashford Academy**

Morning at Ashford Academy saw most of the Student Council in a loosely controlled state of panic, as Student Council President Milly Ashford, the very "sun" of the campus, was nowhere to be found—apparently having gone missing since the night of the ill-fated gala at the no-longer-extant Britannian Victory Memorial Center. She wasn't in her dorm room, she hadn't been to classes, and more importantly, no one had seen her around campus at all.

'_What a time for the President to go missing!' _Shirley Fenette fumed, as the irate orangette paced through the halls of Ashford Academy together with a distraught Nina Einstein in search of Milly. _'Rivalz is worried sick, Nina's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Lelouch is absent again, and I haven't been able to get in touch with Kallen at all…'_

Ordinarily, Milly Ashford disappearing for hours or days at a time would not be such a big deal, but considering the odd timing and who else was gone, Shirley thought herself justified in being just a little bit frantic—and annoyed. After all, Milly and Lelouch being absent meant that the poor orangette was left in charge of the pack of oddballs that made up the Council—with the unwritten responsibility of providing emotional support for Nina and Rivalz (which could prove…more than a little draining after a while).

'_Not that I mind offering a shoulder to lean on, since Nina and Rivalz are my friends, but geez, Madame President, you shouldn't have just vanished without telling anyone! Even if you're as impulsive as we know you are, you're the head of the Student Council—you should at least be responsible enough to tell us when you're planning to disappear for a while.' _

"Shirley…" the bespectacled Nina whispered anxiously, halting in her tracks as she fidgeted, playing with the hem of her skirt with nervous fingers. "What if…what if…"

The meek green-haired Student Council member trailed off as she swallowed, obviously fearing that the worst possible outcome had come to pass—that Milly was laying in a pool of blood somewhere, having been murdered by the fiendish vampire Zero, or that perhaps she had been taken to the gala event by one of the nobles her grandfather always seemed to set her up with.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Shirley Fenette turned around, placing a comforting hand on Nina's shoulders as she looked the other girl in the eye and gave her a lopsided smile.

"Calm down, Nina, it will be ok…" the orangette found herself saying, trying to soothe the pigtailed girl before Nina had the breakdown she always seemed to be on the verge of when anyone brought up news of terrorist incidents involving Elevens. "I'm sure Milly has just been working on something to surprise the rest of us—and there are still places we haven't looked yet. Ashford is a large place, after all."

"But…" Nina protested, wailing, eyes wide as her body shook, driven almost to the point of hysterics as she looked around wildly. Asking her to join in the search for Milly had helped at first by giving the bespectacled girl something to focus on besides her fear of Zero, but as the search had gone on, and Milly was nowhere to be found, her worries had only begun to fester, gnawing at her more and more deeply. "But…she's not in her room, on the roof of the building, or any of the usual places we would look for her. The only place she might be that we haven't checked is the Student Council Clubroom, and Milly doesn't usually like to spend time there since it reminds her of work. Besides, if she were ok, she would have left a note saying where she could be found…but there's nothing. There's noth—eep!"

The shy girl yelped and froze in place as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her fragile frame, almost flinching from the touch before forcing herself to relax, fighting down the rising panic twisting n her gut with the thought that the one hugging her meant no harm—even if physical contact with another girl did do strange things to her body.

"Nina…it can't hurt to look, right?" Shirley murmured quietly, entirely oblivious to the effect that she had on her friend, as she was hoping fervently that the Student Council President was indeed in the clubroom. Then, thinking of something, the orangette pulled back, pumping her fist in the peculiar way Milly was known for. "Besides, we shouldn't doubt our President, especially at a time like this—she'll be fine with the power of '_**Guts!'"**_

A weak half-smile flashed fleetingly across Nina's features as she heard the orangette recite Milly's favorite "spell", with Shirley somehow mimicking the blonde's intonation and inflection almost perfectly. Of course, since that activation keyword was specific to Milly, it didn't do anything like activating any latent magic circuits in either of the two, but it managed to cheer up Nina just the same.

"…thanks, Shirley," Nina mumbled, averting her eyes from her friend. "Well, I guess we could…"

_Creak!_

It was to that scene that the door of the Student Council Clubroom opened, with a thoroughly disheveled Milly Ashford peeking her head out into the hallway, rubbing some lingering grogginess from her eyes as she just looked blankly at the two standing in the hallway, almost seeming to wonder who they were and what they were doing in the Student Council Clubhouse…before she blinked a few beats later, as recognition set in.

"…eh? Shirley? Nina?" the Ashford heir asked, narrowing her eyes as she wondered why the two were looking at her with dropped jaws and expressions of incredulous shock. "Why are—oomph!"

In the next instant, a green and cream coloured blow slammed into the blonde's chest, staggering the wind magus and knocking the breath out of her, as a deceptively looking Nina Einstein fastened her arms around the Student Council President in an ironclad grip and at last allowed her façade of strength to crumble as she broke down crying.

"Milly!" Nina choked out amidst her tears, great, her body heaving with sobs of vexation and relief as she burrowed into the President's chest for reassurance. "You're alright! After you just disappeared after Zero…after Zero…I thought…I had thought…"

"Don't worry, Nina, I'm right here…" the magus responded gently, tenderly returning the embrace of the shaken girl, one of her hands moving to stroke the girl's spine, while the other lifted Nina's chin so that the Ashford heir could look into her eyes. "What seems to be the matter? And what's this about Zero?"

"Oh, Madam President, where have you been? We've been looking all over for you! And what do you mean 'what seems to be the matter'…don't you know what happened?" Shirley broke in, flailing her arms as she ranted at the blonde. Usually, she was better natured than this, but the past day had been very very stressful on the poor orangette. "You have no idea how worried we were after Zero blew up the Britannian Victory Memorial Center and we couldn't find you anywhere!"

The magus' lips shaped an "O" of surprise as realization dawned. Having been more worried about her and Kallen's survival at the time of the building's destruction (by what had seemed a powerful gravity manipulation technique—performed by Lelouch, of all people), and later falling into a healing trance after the harrowing escape from the scene of the crime, the thought of her friends' probable reactions had been the last thing on her mind.

'_No help for it though, as the prolonged healing trance was necessary for my survival—and I only have C.C. to thank for it not lasting longer, as much as I may somewhat question her methods,'_ Milly reflected, sighing inwardly. _'But then, such things are part of the price one pays for being part of the moonlit world while keeping a foot within the world of everyday things…a price I accepted when I began training as a magus long ago.'_

"You thought one of the nobles that grandfather set me up with invited me to the gala, didn't you?" the blonde inquired, receiving a short, terse nod from the orangette. Nina's reaction, on the other hand, was not quite as clear, as the bespectacled green-haired girl just kept weeping into Milly's chest, hot salty tears dampening the blazer jacket and blouse of the Academy uniform. "No, a gala would be a little much for someone like me, ne?"

"Stop joking around, Madame President…I…that is…we…were worried about you," Shirley cried out, balling her fists as she brought her arms to her side, flushing from emotion. "Don't just vanish like that again!"

"Alright," Milly replied, inclining her head ever so slightly—which was pretty much all she could do with Nina still glomped onto her. Given that it was a reasonable suggestion and that she didn't causing pain to her friends, intentionally or unintentionally, the magus figured that acquiescing would be alright. Still, Milly would not be Milly if she simply accepted it without comment, so the corners of her lips drew up into a roguish smile as her voice turned coy, and she looked at the member of the swim team through half-lidded eyes. "Though I didn't know you had such an interest in me, Shirley. Should I be flattered or disappointed that I have to break the news to Lulu?"

"T-t-that's not how it is at all, Madame Prez!" the orangette stammered, her cheeks flushing beet red as the flustered Student Council Member looked away and began to sputter in protest, losing all semblance of composure as she flailed about, vehemently denying the accusation. "W-w-why do you always have to sully conversations with your dirty mind?"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks…" the honey-blonde quipped, smirking as she quoted a famous line from an even more famous play, concerning a rather dark and melancholy prince who wished to take revenge upon the king of his country for his crimes, and eventually ended up obliterating the entire royal family.

Shirley, who had nothing to say to that, simply sniffed and looked away indignantly.

"Um…I guess that's just how our president is," Nina sighed, managing to pull herself together at last, disentangling herself from Milly and leaning back from the blonde's bosom with a sigh—before flushing violently as well upon realizing where she was. "Oh…I…um…Milly…"

"Don't worry about it, Nina, I know it must have been hard," Milly replied, smiling softly down at her friend. "Now was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

Nina's lips quirked momentarily into a brittle smile—a flicker that vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, with the girl looking rather skittish and uncertain. "U-um, yes. Shirley, do you want to…"

With that, the twin-braid girl trailed off, clearly unable to finish saying what was on her mind, and thus, Milly resigned herself to having to play the role of caring upperclassman, one of the several masks she wore over her identity as a magus.

'_If I'm right, considering recent events and Nina's history in Area 11…then this likely concerns what happened two night ago,' _the Student Council President mused with a silent sigh. _'Let's play it by ear and see what happens…though in any case, this will take some delicacy.'_

"Since you know what happened to the Memorial Center—have you heard anything from Kallen, Milly?" Shirley broke in, with the skittish Nina tensing up at the mention of the redhead's name, as if the glasses girl was ready to break down and faint at any moment if she received the wrong answer. "After we saw her name on the guest list for the gala, we called her house to see if she was there, but the only one present was the maid. Both Kallen and Lady Stadtfeld have been missing since the night of the incident…"

"The night when Zero…when Zero…" Nina added, her voice catching as her body shook with unease and trepidation. She paused, swallowing, but managed to continue. "When Zero murdered all those innocent people…"

'_A murder? The only murder that would have taken place was myself, Kallen, and Lelouch intending to kill the false Zero; what Bradley did—what he has always done—is nothing more than senseless slaughter,' _Milly thought to herself, thinking about what most in her line of work considered the difference. '_For in murder, a person puts their dignity and past on a scale and chooses one, bearing the significance and sin of killing, acknowledging the one killed as an equal—in slaughter, one simply kills, regarding the enemy merely as a hindrance. Besides, there were no innocents there…'_

For little did either Shirley or Nina know that they were speaking with the person responsible for the destruction of Tokyo Tower (though not responsible for the deaths of the corrupt nobility, or the utter obliteration of everything else in the area—the first had been entirely Bradley's doing, the second Lulu's), and Milly had no intention of informing them, for to do so would be violating the oaths of secrecy she had taken as a magus—on top of possibly leading to their deaths.

'_Knowing Shirley, she'd recklessly try to help out—only to be captured by an enemy or killed by one of the other more ruthless individuals of the moonlit world, who eliminate witnesses in the most reliable way possible,' _the Ashford magus ruminated, her expression distant as she thought once again about why there was such a need for secrecy. _'And as for Nina, well it depends. She's always been a little unstable, due to an incident in her childhood, and not very used to deception. If it was revealed that her beliefs about the world were completely incorrect—she would either have a mental breakdown, or end going on a roaring rampage of revenge. As the old saying goes, it is the quiet ones that one has to be careful of.'_

Still…Milly knew she had to say something to assuage her friends' concerns, so…

"Hmm, come with me, alright?" the magus inquired gently, looking somewhat worn as she closed her eyes briefly and glanced back towards the conference room. "I was in the middle of something when _someone"_ –and here she glanced at Shirley—"called out my favorite spell…and with such delectable lips, too."

After another bit of quiet protest, the three filed into the clubroom, with the president sitting on the edge of the conference table, and her two subordinates taking seats on the couch, something that Milly had suggested, given that both Shirley and Nina looked like she was going to collapse at any moment—though the orangette was marginally better off than the other.

"So, about Kallen…" Shirley prompted, since the honey blonde wasn't saying anything, her expression thoughtful for once, contemplative in a way none of the others were used to seeing.

"Ah, right, Kallen," Milly repeated, her expression quirking into a gentle, if somewhat mischievous smile as she regarded the two girls facing her. "Don't worry about her, Shirley— Kallen isn't one for formal affairs like that anyway. Besides, the night of the gala, she and Lelouch were out running an errand for me. And the reason they haven't returned yet is that they've been checking out something for the next Student Council activity for me, so there's no need to fear."

"So where are they, Milly?" Nina asked, tilting her head as she peered at the blonde curiously. "And where were you? Were you with them?"

"Oh, I was with them for a while, long enough to show them the place they needed to go and take care of what I needed to do," the Ashford heir replied vaguely, not revealing too much on purpose. Then her voice turned sly and teasing, the better to distract the duo from the present. "Right now, they should both still be at the hotel, where they've been staying…probably resting, since what they were doing the last couple of nights really wore them out. Still, Lelouch really has to work on his stamina…"

The orangette nodded slowly, initially looking relieved, though it was only seconds later that she paled, with an expression of mingled shock and horror coming over her face as the words sank in, with her overactive imagination painting a surprisingly vivid picture of Milly, Lelouch, and Kallen naked in bed together, their sweat-slicked bodies engaged in some rather strenuous night activities—though given that Milly was here at the moment, her mind quickly amended that to a scene of Lelouch and Kallen engaging in a bit of afternoon delight.

"…you mean, they've been spending nights in a hotel room …alone…_together_?!" Shirley exclaimed, putting altogether too much emphasis on that last word, shaking her head violently to clear these images from her mind. "Oh, Madame President, how could you?!"

It wasn't easy, but somehow, Milly kept from laughing, restraining herself to hopping off the table and slinking over to Shirley, where she stroked the orangette's cheeks with her hand, lifting Shirley's chin so that she was looking the member of the swim team in the eye.

"Mmm…you know, sometimes I wonder which of us really has the dirtier mind?" the magus purred sultrily, the touch of her fingers sending a strange shiver through the green-eyed girl's body. "I just said that they were at a hotel, not that they were sleeping together…"

A moment of silence, as Nina just looked at the two taller girls of the Council, and Milly's words once again sunk into Shirley's over-imaginative mind.

"…so you mean…they stopped just short of doing it?!" Shirley whispered hysterically, seeming at the moment a very vulnerable, very accurate portrait of human misery (or in other words, very much like Nina when in a multinational crowd).

"Shirley…" Milly broke in, thinking that she'd had enough fun by now, but—

"You can tell me," the orangette continued to babble, like a verbal dam had been broken, as she looked up at Milly pleadingly, large green eyes about to overflow with tears. "I promise I won't be shocked or upset. Please, Milly, give me a straight answer…are they going out?"

"…they're not," the Ashford magus replied, giving a rather direct response for once, her voice rather stern as she put her other hand reassuringly on Shirley's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Besides, after going out on a date with 'the Student Council's Perfect 10', I think Lelouch should know what's good for him."

Hearing this piece of information, Nina blinked. Several times. In quick succession.

"Shirley, you actually managed to go out on a date with Lelouch?" she squeaked, turning to the orangette, seemingly distracted by the news. "Congratulations!"

"Yes, you really should be more confident in yourself…and have a bit more faith in your dearest Lulu," Milly chided, easing back her hand as she took a seat on the conference table again. "Remember, with _**Guts **_you can do anything. And if you really want to know what we were doing, Lelouch and Kallen were helping me examine facilities for the next Student Council retreat. I thought it might be good to get out of the Settlement for a while, since it's getting dangerous to stay here with the vampire incidents and all…"

'_Especially since the Governor General happens to be behind at least some of the murders—though probably not all of them, as Mana reported the presence of Living Dead—ghouls which only a Dead Apostle can create. It appears the situation was worse than we thought…'_

"Um…Milly…we'll be safe there, right?" Nina asked, understandably not wanting to encounter any vampires, terrorists, or beings of that sort. "From…Elevens…or Z-Z-Zero...?"

"I'm certain we won't run into Zero," the Ashford magus replied with quiet confidence (as she was right to, given her connection with the masked revolutionary/exile), "and it should be safe enough anyway, since the Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel is well known for its security…"

"But Zero already killed all those people and caused a slaughter on the bridge," Nina protested, her voice feeble. "He admitted to killing Clovis and the Royal Guard, he killed off most of the nobles in Area 11, he incited a revolt—why wouldn't he come to finish the job and to kill all of us?"

"Because frankly, I'm sure Zero has better things to do in the next few days than hunt down attractive schoolgirls," Milly quipped wryly. "Come now, let's get packing…we leave this afternoon."

'_Of course Zero has better things to do than hunt down attractive schoolgirls—Lelouch is no murderer, for one, and he'd be oblivious to attraction if it hit him in the face.'_

**

* * *

**

**Training Area 69 - Θ Desolate Frozen Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 25_

_Skid! Clang!_

The air hissed in protest as a metal staff _hiss-snapped_ to full extension, its dark-haired wielder spinning the cold metallic length of his rod to bat aside the three spears of ice aimed at his head, his feet beating a furious rhythm as he accelerated, speeding through the snowy field towards the petite form of his demonic assailant, who was already preparing another spell with which to torture the exiled magus—

_Crack!_

—but wouldn't get the chance, as an exhausted but determined Lamperouge slipped past his opponent's guard, evading an ice mirror that had been hidden in the snow with the aid of his enhanced senses, his staff sliding down and around to trip the seemingly innocent girl in white, with the succubus familiar literally swept off her feet, losing her balance and falling to the snow with a _thud, _the cold metal of Lelouch's staff barely kissing her forehead.

"So, it appears that I am the victor this time, _Master,_" the magus intoned ironically, smirking triumphantly down at the one who had tortured him for so long under the guise of "teaching him" (even if he was forced to admit that her "lessons" had forced him to improve by leaps and bounds for the sake of survival). "So, do you yiel—"

But Lelouch vi Britannia, master tactician and magus in training, was rudely interrupted in the midst of his declaration of victory, as—

_Shh—Whump!_

—an unseen force slammed into his back, causing him to stumble forward and knocking him onto the prone form of the succubus—

_Clink!_

—whose image shimmered and dissolved, revealing that what Lelouch had thought to be the demon familiar was merely a construct of ice, ice that now swiftly crept over the prince's legs and arms over his torso, encasing all of his body—save his head and neck within a thick sheath of ice.

"Wha—" the magus-in-training hissed, realizing too late what had happened, his thoughts turning inwards as he sought to gather the magical energy he needed for a mana burst (which might or might not break through the entrapment technique) as—

'_Damn…'_

The exile froze, ceasing his effort to escape as what seemed like the edge of a searing-cold vibroblade touched the side of his neck with just enough to force to draw blood—though with enough precision not to sever any major blood vessels.

'_Well…so much for being the victor…'_

"Huhuhu…I do believe that's checkmate," the sadistic petite succubus purred, her red eyes seeming entirely too mirthful at her student's misfortune. "Now, I thought your sharp mind granted you some resistance to my illusionary arts—so tell me, magus, however did I trap you _this_ time?"

Thus implying that there would be a next time—and probably a time after that—and a time after that.

"You…" For a long moment, Lelouch was sorely tempted to either protest or refuse to answer (for such his ego demanded)…but only for a moment, as the first thing that the magus had learned about Ren was that the cute, innocent-looking demon girl was very much a demon—a sadistic, vicious being who wouldn't hesitate to deal out pain if he gave her an excuse. "A talent for illusion breaking means nothing without me realizing I am seeing an illusion…"

"That is correct," the all-too-cute demon nodded, dispelling her spellblade, raising an eyebrow as she gave her fallen pupil an appreciative smirk, sharp red eyes lighting up at the sight of the thin red line marring his otherwise flawless skin, as she touched it with her free hand and licked the crimson liquid from her fingertips, letting out a shiver of pleasure at the taste. "You had no reason to question what you were seeing as reality, and that was why you failed…though I applaud you for avoiding the Ice Mirror this time…"

Within his cocoon of ice, the dog-tired Lamperouge magus simply nodded, yawning as the fatigue of another day's training was beginning to take its toll on him.

'_No…I can't fall asleep, not while still in the snow field…'_ he thought to himself, even as the exile felt energy being leeched from his body both by the cold—and… _'By this strange ice?'_

"Of course, avoiding that more obvious trap left you open to be caught in my coffin of ice technique, which does drain your mana and heat fairly rapidly," White Ren remarked offhandedly, as if this were nothing but a minor inconvenience for the lad. "Oh well, that's enough for today, I suppose…"

With that, the succubus pulled the blade of ice away from his neck and dispelled it, giving Lelouch just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief as—

_Crack!_

—with her other hand, the petite demon slammed a swirling ball of reddish light into the prince's ice-encrusted back, shattering the ice, to be sure—and knocking the boy out, the magus' eyes rolling up in his head as he collapsed, going limp as he fell unconscious.

"Hmph…still so weak?" White Ren clucked, a look of mild disappointment flitting across her face as she looked at her fallen pupil. "A pity that I cannot yet get serious…but I suppose you did much better than on our first session. Perhaps you will soon be able to cast a spell in combat…"

* * *

**Café Ahnenerbe**

'_This place is rather unexpected for the home and workshop of a Sorcerer, especially one with the reputation of the Second…'_ a certain alchemist of Atlas reflected as she looked over some documents in the privacy of Café Ahnenerbe's second level—a level open only to those specifically invited by the enigmatic Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg. _'Then again, the Second has never been the most orthodox of magi….'_

This would seem to reflected in both appearance, location of workshop (if it actually had a set location, of which the Director of Atlas was unsure, since a Sorcerer who mastered dimensions and manipulation of space could shift things easily with gateways to parallel worlds and such), and choice of apprentices, given that the Second's best known student was none other than Aoko Aozaki, the much feared Fifth Sorceress who commanded Absolute Destruction.

'_The mission profile for the Second's request is a rather interesting one, given that it involves operations against another Sorcerer—without involving any magi besides myself,' _Sion thought to herself, eyes flicking between the various pages of the briefing that Zelretch's mute familiar Ren had brought to her this morning. _'That he wishes to take no chances with possible detection I can understand—but so far, I am only aware of three people to be sent—myself, Shiki, and a certain Mana Ryougi, who I was not aware existed before the Fifth approached us…. '_

True, there was the possibility of several more to be added, but considering that elite squads of magi sent to hunt powerful Dead Apostles in the past had numbered in the hundreds, Sion did have some concerns about this current mission—especially the elimination portion of the reconnaissance and elimination mission.

'_It is true that Shiki has extensive experience in slaying these types of adversaries, that my ability at calculating the future is second to none, and that the Ryougi apparently possesses the legendary Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, but…'_

…these facts by no means made their team invincible. Even her first significant mission long ago—to assist in the destruction of the TATARI—had been as part of a significant Church task force—which had been all but eliminated in the course of the conflict. Granted, the TATARI had been one of the most deadly of the Dead Apostle Ancestors—but a Sorcerer would be no less dangerous than the TATARI, and quite possibly more so.

'_Though in light of the nature of our enemy, I am grateful to have the Black Barrel in my possession…'_

For if there was a possibility one could encounter a hostile Sorcerer, then having the masterwork of the First, the weapon which was said to be capable of killing that which did not possess a concept of death, would certainly be useful, as it was one of the few artifacts capable of permanently killing almost anything.

'_Many many questions…several of these sheets are nearly blank, after all…'_

But the purple-haired alchemist simply sighed, shaking her head and putting down the various pieces of paper as she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. For once, she was wearing a somewhat more casual ensemble (as wearing clothing emblazoned with the insignia of Atlas would not be wise at the moment), consisting of a simple white blouse and dark slacks, with her long purple hair unbound from in its usual ponytail, cascading over her shoulders as she worked—the only reminder of who and what she was being the gold bracelets about her wrists from which she could spin Etherlite threads.

'_I will need to ask the Second for more information soon,_ _but traditionally, it would be considered rude if I did not finish what had been provided for breakfast…'_

With that, the alchemist picked up a teacup, sipping delicately on the blend of Earl Grey Tea within as she nibbled on treacle scones, pushing the briefing aside and reaching instead for a version of _**Faust**_, the classic tale of the scholar-alchemist who decided to sell his soul for knowledge—a book that Shiki had recommended to her in the sardonic manner of his.

Still, she hadn't had a chance to read too much before the sound of muffled footsteps approached, with the door to the second level opening with a smooth _click_ as Zelretch's blue-haired succubus familiar led a striking green-haired woman clad in an equally striking red dress inside, gesturing for her to join the Dust of Osiris at her small table, a development that somewhat surprised the Eltnam scion.

Upon arriving at the booth, the mysterious new arrival thanked the girl for showing her the way, and then sat down, smoothing out her skirts. The blue-haired girl nodded in turn and then left the room.

"A pleasant morning to you, Lady Sokaris," the First Magician greeted, as she slid into her seat across from the alchemist, using the formality that one would traditionally offer to a high ranking magus—which Sion was. And then Sion's perceptions were thrown for a loop when the amber-eyed woman continued. "I am rather pleased that the Old Man did as I requested without any protest, which is rather unusual of him, especially these days."

The Dust of Osiris raised one slender eyebrow, tensing ever so slightly at the sight of the interloper—and particularly at the casual manner in which she had referred to the Wizard Marshal, the Master of the Second Magic.

'_Could this be a high-ranking magus as well?' _Sion pondered, her mind instantly analyzing the facts she was presented with in an attempt to draw conclusions. '_She certainly carries herself with a quiet sense of power, and apparently is comfortable with referring to the Second in such a manner, which most except the Fifth are not. Another student, then? Perhaps one that I am unaware of? Information is insufficient…more must be obtained…'_

"You know of my former name, then?" the alchemist replied evenly, her features frozen in a pleasant mask as she surreptitiously sent a thread of Ethelite towards the stranger with a near imperceptible movement of her wrist as she set down her teacup. "I must confess that you have me at a disadvantage…?"

_Thwip!_

But the mysterious newcomer simply reached up at the air faster than Sion would have thought possible, catching the nigh invisible fiber between thumb and forefinger, the stranger's golden eyes seeming to shimmer for a moment with iridescent light as she turned a reproving look upon the Director of Atlas.

"Indeed I do, Lady Sokaris," the Witch intoned, her expression mostly solemn, though there were traces of amusement mingled with it. "And for the purposes of this meeting, may I ask that you refrain from attempting to probe my mind with your Ethelite filaments? Even if you are an Eltnam, the last scion of the family often called spiritual hackers, it is somewhat inappropriate in such a situation, is it not? As to your question, I am called C.C."

"Not the most human name," Sion observed neutrally, obligingly withdrawing her Ethelite threads in deference to the other woman. That had been an interesting test of the other's skills and temperament, and the alchemist mentally revised her calculations of who this might be. "I presume you have some business with me?"

"You would be correct, Dust of Osiris," the First Magician replied in much the same tone of voice, mirroring the alchemist's body language for whatever psychological advantage she could gain. "I have come in regards to the Second's request, to offer more information, as well as discuss possible compensation."

"Oh?" Sion inquired, raising an eyebrow as she studied the woman sitting across from her, who seemed patently unreadable. "You are familiar with his rather odd assignment then?"

"Only as odd as he is," the Sorceress quipped, the corners of her lips drawing up into a thin smirk. "But yes, I am quite familiar with the details of this mission—and as the Wizard Marshal does not enjoy these more formal affairs, I am handling it in his stead—though I admit I was curious to see the face of the Dust of Osiris, the one who redeemed the house of Eltnam by eliminating the one who abandoned his humanity to challenge the Sixth."

Another brief interruption as the black-clad Ren returned through the door, bearing a container of oolong tea and a steaming hot "tea pizza" – a special dish for between meal snacks, with tea instead of water in the dough, with brewed tea leaves ground up and added to the dough for flavor, with tea cooked steak and shitake mushrooms as toppings. She set these down in front of the Sorceress and curtseyed, looking questioningly at the First Magician, as if wondering if the woman needed anything else.

"That will be all for now, thank you, Ren," C.C. said softly, giving the young girl a nod and a hint of a smile as the succubus departed once again.

When she was gone, the Sorceress returned her attention to Sion, only to find that the Alchemist's eyes had narrowed at the reference to the fateful mission where she had fought against the Dead Apostle Ancestor called Zepia Eltnam Oberon, the one who had been a noted Alchemist of Atlas before he took up the mantle of TATARI with the intention of creating an impossible future in which the world would escape its fated end.

"So you are aware of my mission against the TATARI," the tan alchemist noted impassively, taking care not to reveal what she thought of that, even as continued to revise down the possibilities for who this woman might be. _'Quite obviously, she has seen a dossier on me, as reflected by her basic knowledge of my abilities and my past…although how she would know of Zepia's quest to challenge the Sixth I am unaware.' _"You are well-informed, as one would expect from one of the Wizard Marshal's associates."

For a brief moment, the Director of Atlas was tempted to try her Ethelite again, in order to gain some information on the enigmatic magus sitting before her, the moment passed. Given the green-haired woman's earlier, very casual, interception of her specialized monofilaments and her words, (as well as her words) indicated experience in dealing with those of the Eltnam line.

"Considering the fallout of the mission, and those involved, one in my circles would be hard pressed not to have learned certain pieces of information," C.C. responded noncommittally, not providing any details that she didn't need to—which was more or less her usual modus operandi. Magi tended to be secretive by nature, and though the First did reveal tidbits here and there, she kept much more of what she knew to herself. "And then there is the fact that you were accompanied by a rather infamous assassin and reserve member of the Burial Agency, the one feared by those of demon blood as the shadow of death—the Shikage, as some call him."

"I take it that your knowledge of my past has something to do with this current mission?" the Dust of Osiris probed, attempting to determine what this woman's relation to Atlas or Zepia might be—or to the Second, at that. Her ongoing calculations continued to eliminate individuals who this might be, and there were no known magi who fit the profile of this woman—yet, surely such an individual would be known on one level or another. "I doubt that one such as yourself would reveal knowledge of this sort without a reason, for knowledge is our currency as magi."

"Indeed so, and it is relevant because your travelling companion is currently training mine, Sion Eltnam Atlasia," C.C. answered with an eloquent shrug, taking a sip of her oolong tea as she did so. It was but a small piece of information, but one that caused the Director of Atlas' eyes widen slightly. "But then, one demon hunter is best to train another, ne?"

'_Inspecting parameters and known information: Unknown is the ally of a Satsujinki, knows of Shiki's power, and my past—'_

As Sion processed these bits of information, warning bells began to go off in her mind, with one thought process after another beginning to find reasons for concern. Clearly, whoever this associate of Zelretch was, she was not here by accident or simply "because the Wizard Marshal did not like formal affairs"—she knew too much, and her association with the Satsujinki made it likely that she had something to do arranging the situation as a whole.

"I see."

"Do you?" the Grey Witch continued, continuing to study the bemused alchemist with her piercing golden eyes. "In any case, what I offer you in advance is something which many of Atlas, and indeed, many alchemists in general, have sought over the years, though only Zepia, wayward student that he was, managed to achieve in recent memory. But then, that should be no surprise, as of those gathered together when the Giant's Pit was first unearthed, the Eltnam line has always been the most dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge, prizing it above all else."

'_A power that Zepia achieved? A Reality Marble? No…those cannot be freely offered, as those are unique to an individual, though it is possible in very rare cases to inherit one. His vampirism? Unlikely, as most magi consider that a corruption of their being. So what would be a power that alchemists have sought since the beginning,' _Sion mused silently, eyebrows furrowing almost imperceptibly as her mind examined the possibilities for what it might be—and whether that would grant any clues as to this woman's true identity—her lightning fast calculations eventually settling on a solitary possibility, one that managed to unnerve even the cold-hearted alchemist. _'If my calculations are correct, then this is certainly no ordinary magus, or even one of the more extraordinary ones…this woman would be on an entirely different level…'_

"So what is it that you offer?" the Dust of Osiris asked warily, wanting to hear the woman clearly state what she was offering.

To most people, the Eltnam scion presented a perfect poker face, but C.C. was not most people, having been alive longer than any single civilization had lasted, and thus having gained some mastery of body language as well as many other things.

"What I offer is the power which Zepia gained at the end of his research—that which he used to transmute himself from mere Dead Apostle into a phenomenon," the First Magician uttered, golden eyes looking into violet. "The treasure which alchemists have sought from the beginning, that which has had many names, but the legend of which is instantly known to any who practices our art."

With that, C.C. reached forward, as if retrieving something from behind Sion's ear, and as if performing a magic trick, withdrew her clenched hand, opening it to reveal a blood red stone in her palm. She gestured for the Dust of Osiris to hold out her palm, and when the alchemist did so, the Sorceress deposited the stone in Sion's outstretched hand, with every single extant Magic Circuit in the the alchemist's body thrumming with power at the stone's merest touch.

"You…that is…"

For once, Sion Eltnam Atlasia's mind fell silent, having encountered something so unlikely that her thought processes seized up for several seconds before resetting themselves.

"Yes, I am sure you are quite aware of what this item is, are you not?" the Sorceress asked softly, her words only underscoring the reality of the impossible offer being made. "I would expect nothing less from the greatest Alchemist to hail from Atlas in generations—even surpassing Zepia himself…"

"The true Philosophers' Stone," Sion recited dutifully, her control dazed by the treasure before her. Alchemists of Atlas prided themselves on calculating the future, after all, and yet, what had just transpired was so unlikely as to be nigh impossible—so much so as to be galling. "The greatest secret of Atlas, which only Zepia has succeeded in creating since the time of the Founder—the alchemical treasure supposedly able to heal all pains, plagues, curses—even death. A crystallized miracle that an alchemist may use—once—to achieve the impossible. _How do you have this _and_ why are you simply offering this to me_?"

It made no sense. The Philosopher's Stone (the true stone, not that which some called Sakuradite) was not something that one would normally simply give away after creating—the mere fact that this woman had one, not to mention was now offering it to her, was…well, huge.

"You who are the Director of Atlas should know exactly why I am privy to this power, Lady Sokaris," the Sorceress intoned gravely, looking expectantly at the alchemist sitting in front of her. "Tell me then, why _would_ I be privy to the greatest secret of all of alchemy?"

The Eltnam scion considered—and discarded—a number of different possibilities as they came to mind, scenarios that decreased in likelihood as she went on.

'_Could she be an unknown alchemist of great talent?' _she asked herself, before tossing that notion aside. _ 'No…but where would she acquire the equipment and materials for her research? Is she perhaps from another world, one of the many which the Wizard Marshal frequents? But then why would she concern herself about this one? Or…'_

And then, with all other possibilities exhausted, Sion's thoughts turned at last to the legendary mage who had crafted the Black Barrel, the one alchemist besides Zepia known to have created a Philosopher's Stone in her lifetime—before disappearing at the height of her influence, after choosing a successor for her position as Director of Atlas.

"So that is the answer," the Dust of Osiris said, tone flat with surprise. "You are the First Magician, the Founder of Atlas who was said to have created the art of alchemy…the Archmagus Ce—"

"—now, now, I believe I said I was called C.C.," the Sorceress corrected archly, though her face showed a flash of wistfulness for but a brief moment, before she shook her head, taking another sip of tea. "Besides, that name has been long forgotten anyway, by any to whom it really mattered, Director. In any case, I offer it to you as much for this mission as for your consort training the Satsujinki—equivalent exchange is the basis of our art, is it not?"

"Indeed, Lady C.C.," Sion acknowledged with a nod. That much, if nothing else, was certainly true—though the Philosopher's Stone or True Magic did allow one to violate equivalent exchange, so considering who she was speaking with, this acknowledgement was more for form's sake than anything else. "Do you have more details about the mission I should be aware of?"

"Four names: Nanaya, Ryougi, Fujou, and Asagami," the Grey Witch listed, marking each one with a finger as she spoke, throwing a sidelong glance at Sion "You are familiar with these names, I presume?"

"You could be correct in doing so," the Dust of Osiris conceded, recalling the bits she had learned over the years, either from Shiki or other sources. "They are the four families of the Demon Hunter Organization—the Nanaya specializing in assassination, the Ryougi in combat, the Fujou in curses and spirit manipulation, the Asagami in telekinesis. I had been under the impression that the only surviving member was Shiki, given that the Ryougi heir was unknown, the Asagami's psychic abilities were said to have died out, and the Fujou bloodline collapsed with the death of Fujou Kirie."

"In Ryougi's case, this is deliberate misinformation, a level of defense against detection—I would not care for most to discover her ability, given the nature of her power," C.C. commented, calling to mind what many would do if they discovered the existence of a Satsujinki. "Mana has trained and traveled with me since the time of the time of the invasion, taking care to avoid mention of her true name in any official documents."

"Hmm, I see," Sion uttered, nodding once in acknowledgement. Using misinformation as a weapon she understood only _too_ well, given the nature of her family's arts. "And the others?"

"The Asagami lineage currently still exists, with its last member under the care of the puppetmaster Aozaki Touko—"

"—the sister of the Magic Gunner, Shiki's teacher," the Dust of Osiris broke in, raising an eyebrow at this bit of information. "While some would call it a coincidence, I do not believe it to be so."

"In this world there are no coincidences. There can only be the inevitable… especially when the Counter Force is involved in one way or another, manipulating situations and events from behind the scenes," the First Sorceress agreed with a slight frown, her tone rather wry. But then, the Magician had a rather personal knowledge of what it could do, as it had been involved in the destruction of her land long ago. "As to the Fujou, the demise of their line is quite true—if one only considers the main family."

"Then, members of the branch family survive to this day?" Sion inquired, gingerly eyeing the four mostly blank sheets that lay on the top of the sheaf of documents she had been given. "Perhaps two members, given that of these data sheets, the Ryougi is one, and Asagami another?"

"Correct, Lady Sokaris," the First Magician voiced, confirming the alchemist's assumption about the number of people involved. "The Second's information would seem to indicate that a set of twins from the branch family still survives today, with one skilled in the family's traditional arts, while the other is more skilled at design and fabrication of magical dolls—somewhat in accordance with how she sees herself—using fragments of her life to empower them and give them some intelligence."

"You are certain of this?" the alchemist queried, receiving a somewhat strange and distant look in response. "Lady C.C.?"

There was a long moment of silence, as if the Sorceress was picking her way through a long series of memories and deciding just how much she should reveal about the situation.

"The Second has encountered these two in the recent past," the First Magician said at last, with a somewhat disturbed look muddling the features of her usually serene face. "As have I, the Ryougi, and…the Nanaya, though that was far in the past."

"Shiki has?"

"I wonder if his image of what they once were will be as they are now," C.C. continued, not quite dodging the question. "For images in their way are magic, developing out of thought, out of memory and imagination, growing in to stories in the mind, narratives and fairytales—powers which alter the heart and soul."

"I will defer to your experience with this topic, given your abilities," the Eltnam scion demurred, though from the information provided, she came to one conclusion. "I take it that the members of the late Demon Hunter Organization shall be my force allotment?"

"You presume correctly, as expected of the Dust of Osiris," the Master of the First Magic confirmed with a simple nod. "The Assembly chose well when it appointed you an Atlasia, Sion."

"I am honored that you agree, you who were the First of us all, Lady Founder," Sion murmured diplomatically, though one of her eyebrows quirked in curiosity. "If I may ask though, are you involved in this situation with 'Zero'?'

C.C. smirked then, a slow, dangerous smirk that reminded the Dust of Osiris of Shiki when he was about to face a worthy opponent.

"Wouldn't it be ironic if I was?" the Sorceress replied, evading the question.

With the meat of their business concluded for now, the two simply enjoyed their tea and snacks, watching the world go by and conversing every now and then on matters that came to mind, two alchemists / artificers of different generations and skills, but of one continuous legacy.

* * *

**Training Area 44, Θ Eternal Sacred Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 32_

Within the forest of death, a fire magus and assassin sparred against one another, with Mana Ryougi finding that this style of physical therapy and rehabilitation worked far better than the usual alternative of more gentle methods—something that apparently ran in the family, as her mother had apparently slain a living corpse in combat after lying in a coma for two years. Still, it had taken the equivalent of somewhere around two weeks for the last Ryougi to fully adapt to using her artificial arms, and to suppress the twinges of phantom pain that she had felt in the beginning.

'_Apparently, it is because my body is close to the Origin, and so this imitation of phantom pain is simply a rejection against a foreign body, no matter how well crafted…' _

Still, for all intents and purposes, the girl had gotten used to her new limbs, which, while physically were more or less identical to her old limbs (Touko _was_ a brilliant puppetmaker, whatever else she wasn't), seemed much tougher, with a high level of magic resistance—which Azaka had proceeded to demonstrate by immobilizing the Satsujinki's arms during the first week of training and attempting to set them on fire.

Mana had winced at the time, waiting for the explosion of pain and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh that would inevitably accompany it, but nothing happened, leaving Azaka to pull back, smiling impishly at her niece, while said younger girl muttered off a curse or four.

Now though, after several weeks of intense sparring in numerous styles of hand-to-hand combat (a very effective and energy intensive of exercise) against someone very proficient in all of them (as Azaka had to be, as Touko Aozaki's melee combat specialist), Mana was showing some signs of improvement in her unarmed combat styles.

'_All the more useful in case I am once again disarmed by an opponent,' _the assassin noted darkly, remembering all too well how her last opponent—a Dead Apostle –had outmatched her, disarming her in every sense of the word. _'Or if I have to face that vampire once again…I managed to wound him, but he was not slain.'_

She had come close to stabbing the vampiric assassin's point of death a few times, but the adversary had proven very…slippery, evading her attacks with speed that should not have been possible.

'_Even C.C. has never moved that fast, even with the aid of her runes and reinforcement—that I have seen anyway,' _Mana mused, recalling the times she had sparred against the Grey Witch and comparing it to her fight against the vampire. _'Still, after the vampire injected his blood into me—before I managed to kill its influence—I began to see some sort of magecraft wrapping his body in a sheath. Perhaps that is the secret of his speed? He certainly seemed to slow after our final clash, before he set the ghouls on me…'_

_Fsh! Whirr! Whoosh!_

Dodging, weaving, blocking, and striking, the magus and the assassin circled one another, looking for any opening in the other's stance that they could use to exploit, coming together for brief clashes before pulling apart.

A blur of flaming fists and whirling legs, speed being used against strength, raw instinct against experience, until—

_Whump!_

—both combatants sprang back to the edge of the clearing as a man dressed in all in black landed silently in their midst, having observed the two sparring from the trees surrounding the training area. At first glance, he was not the most imposing man, appearing rather average in height, with a lean whipcord body and seemingly casual posture, but on closer inspection, one could feel the dangerous aura radiating from his form, especially with the deliberateness of every step he took.

"You are Nanaya?" Azaka asked guardedly, studying the man—who looked up at her, revealing a face that looked almost exactly like that of the late Mikiya Kokutou, though the man's glowing eyes reminded her rather more of the deadly Shiki Rougi, the one who was like the reaper herself. "The one called the Shikage?"

"So I am," the Nanaya remarked casually, his eyes showing a hint of approval as he glanced over Azaka's form. "And you are the apprentice to my sensei's… older sister, it seems. She chose well."

Azaka nodded at this and backed from the clearing, acceding to the Nanaya's observation that he believed her charge to be ready for the second phase of her training – how to more effectively use her mystic eyes, gaining mastery over death.

With that, the Shikage turned to the youngest one in the field, tossing her a sheathed blade as he drew his own, studying the Ryougi with his eyes, analyzing the lines and points of life in her body, taking note of the fact that those in her arms seemed different than that in the rest of her.

"So you are the one the Old Man wished for me to train," the more experienced demon hunter commented. "The one who, like your mother, possesses the mystic eyes of death perception, the mirror to my own abilities. I always wanted to fight your mother once—but I suppose I will settle for you."

He smirked as Mana stiffened at the reference to Shiki Ryougi, then decided to twist the metaphorical knife just a bit.

"Just don't hold back—and don't disappoint me too much, _Satsujin—._"

_Clink!_

Mana's eyes blazed azure in the moonlight as she met the Nanaya knife to knife, having slashed with precision at one of his lines of death—only for her blade to be perfectly intercepted, as if he had anticipated such a move.

Two sets of mystic eyes stared at one another for something close to a heartbeat—and then their wielders struck at one another with speed and precision born of their true natures, with Mana mildly annoyed that the Shikage was managing to block so easily, almost as if…

'_Predicting where I will hit. Can he see the lines as well?'_

"Why so surprised, Ryougi?" Shiki asked, as their knives flashed silver in the air, giving off sparks as they collided, his expression smug as he recognized the unspoken question in her eyes. "You may see what makes things die, but I see what keeps all things alive. From the moment life begins, it begins to die—is it any wonder that what we see is the same?"

An arctic glare, and then the Nanaya leapt away, with the Ryougi in pursuit.

**

* * *

**

**Government Bureau, Tokyo Settlement - Area 11**

For most people, being the Governor General of an Area that seemed to be on the verge of rebellion would have been a very stressful affair—especially considering the recent plunge in physical or mental life expectancy for holders of that office since the mysterious Zero had appeared in Area 11—but then, Luciano Bradley, the Knight of Ten, was notorious for not being most people.

'_Ah, Zero…what an interesting foe, whose actions have benefited me to no end,'_ the Vampire of Britannia thought to himself as he monitored areawide troop movements, doling out some of his force strength to one ghetto or another in preparation for his next moves. _'_ _Truly, you are a useful being, as our battle allowed me to kill off all those meddlesome nobles who so disapproved of me—and to declare martial law in Area 11, which means that I may indulge in all the slaughter I wish…'_

The homicide genius paused as his eyes came across a rather interesting piece of news—that Zero had apparently launched a bold operation last night, killing off the members of the Six Houses of Kyoto, the organization of elite Japanese industrialists and plutocrats that the Britannian Empire had left in charge of most of Japan's major industries.

Then he laughed, a dark, nearly maniacal sound of glee that would have terrified any who heard it—all except Marika Soresi, the slim green-eyed brunette who had served as the man's long suffering aide after her graduation from the Area 11 Military Academy.

"Is there something amusing, milord?" the girl asked, knowing that it was probably a good idea to find out what exactly was on her boss' mind, considering that his laughter was always at someone's expense—a sound she did not hear often off the battlefield. Given that she was the one actually doing most of the man's paperwork and who had to deal with any political fallout (which, admittedly, was much less of a burden under martial law, as the Governor General's power became absolute).

"Simply that Zero may well be a homicide genius himself—and might as well be a Britannian, with his actions," the Knight of Ten related, savoring the moment. "The deaths he causes, the way in which he spreads fear and terror in the populace…ah, it is delicious."

"Why would you say that, milord?" the young Valkyrie Squadron pilot inquired, then winced, knowing that she would likely not like the answer.

"It's quite simple…by killing Britannians and Elevens alike, and the highest ranked ones at that, Zero is giving the populace the impression that he is simply an avatar of vengeance against Britannia, that no one who could remotely be seen as a collaborator is safe from his 'justice'," Bradley explained, a rather disturbing glint in his eyes as he pondered this. "And what Eleven has not bowed before their Britannian masters at one point or another? What Eleven has no reason to fear? None would be without sin in his eyes—or so the populace is beginning to think."

"So in other words, the more effective he is as a murderer and terrorist, the worse off the public position towards him—and the less opposition there will be to any more extreme measures needed to eliminate him," Marika surmised, jotting down which units she wished to have under her command in Chiyoda on the morrow. "Fear is a double-edged sword, changing a docile populace into a panicked mob, mild-mannered civilians into bloody-minded accusers."

"Exactly, which is why Zero has been doing us a service," the Knight of Ten concluded with relish. "And why I have allowed the release of information concerning the murders of our soldiers, the nobles, and the Six Houses of Kyoto, among others. While we could have suppressed it—there is no reason to. If Zero wishes to provoke unease, then by all means we will allow it—for our position grows stronger as fear and miasma become more wide spread. A fearful mob needs a leader, after all, someone who can give them a target for their anger…"

"…and we can use his actions to justify any actions we take, in the knowledge that Elevens and Britannians alike will approve," the pilot added after a moment, finishing her boss' thought. "Because no matter what we do, it will seem a relief when compared to the looming specter of Zero."

Luciano Bradley smiled as his aide's deduction, though his expression was only technically a smile in the way that a shark's bared teeth with lips curled upwards was a smile.

"Of course," the man boasted, seeming far larger than he had been a moment earlier. "For am I not a homicide genius?"

**

* * *

**

**Training Area 44, Θ Eternal Sacred Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 48_

Metallic clinks and clangs rang out in the moonlit forest as two deadly assassins faced off, holding nothing back as they fought against one another, testing their abilities time and time again, the sounds mixing here and there with the _crash_ of tree branches, the _thump-thump-thump_ of feet upon the ground, or the rustling of fabric as the battle raged, with a certain magus of fire watching from the distance.

This was the part of the daily routine of Nanaya and Ryougi, Shikage and Satsujinki, the two demon hunters who had met the equivalent of days ago, only to take something of an instinctive dislike to one another, as beings who were too similar tended to do. After a bit of initial sparring, the two would "hunt" one another in the forest of death, until one of the two was "caught" (which was to say disarmed or otherwise forced to surrender, with the victor's knife poised upon one of his victim's points of life).

Yes, specifically "his", for Mana Ryougi had never managed to beat the Nanaya at this "game" as of yet (though given that this area was apparently a replica of the Nanaya forest in several worlds, and hence was the ideal place for Shiki to demonstrate his assassination skills, namely his extreme speed of movement and attack, his ability to nearly completely hide his presence, and his finely honed instincts—a sixth sense for battle refined enough that it was now close to true precognition).

Against his concealment abilities, Mana tested her skills and senses, attuning each and every one of her senses to gather slight grains of information on her opponent's whereabouts—the sound of a beating heart, the scent of human sweat, an abnormally warmer or colder area, the sound of a breath. Against his rapid attacks, she relied on efficient redirection of force and management of her circle of control, her instincts as a Ryougi good enough to manage a defensive battle quite easily. It was when it came to attacking that—

_Whump!_

—she tended to end up immobilized, forced to concede every single time. And after this latest hunt…

"I was told that you had the great potential as an assassin," the Nanaya stated bluntly, eying his "student" of sorts rather critically. "But over our many battles, you still seem to hesitate when attacking, as if unsure of yourself. That's "

"I am not—" Mana began, picking herself off the ground with a frown as she dusted the dirt from her dress.

"You are, as if uncertain about something," Shiki observed critically, noting that the Ryougi seemed tenser than usual, as if there was something bothering her that she wasn't aware of. "I concede that you improvise and adapt rather well to new techniques, but then, these have never been your weaknesses, have they, Ryougi? Remember, that as assassins, death is our art, our purpose of our training and experience—not mere combat, not forms and sparring. For us to kill, especially to kill a strong opponent is, in effect, the proof of our existence."

A beat of silence as the Satsujinki stilled, her form going completely motionless—then surged forward with eyes blazing with terrible azure flame, slicing the line representing the distance between her and her opponent—and instantly striking!

_Clang!_

A last second block as the Shikage deflected the blow, knife swinging to counter—but proving merely a diversion when his leg snapped out viciously towards the Rougi's girl face—met by Mana's free hand as she grabbed hold of the leg and swept out with her own, tripping the Nanaya and sending the man sprawling to the floor, his blue eyes looking up at her as the girl followed the arc of his movement, straddling him and bringing her knife down viciously towards the older assassin—

_No._

—only to lock up, freezing as a memory leapt unbidden into her mind.

"_That's not true at all. You're a good person, Mitsuru-san. Have more confidence in yourself,"_ a younger self has said, censuring her companion with a serious look, as she and the picture book author/detective Kamekura Mitsuru had stood before the Mother of Mifune, a famous prophet who was able to see future tragedies and how to keep them from happening.

"… _I'm honored, but what are you basing that on?" _Mitsuru had asked simply, with the man fighting hard not to show any expression at all.

"_Why? Because you're like Papa, Mitsuru-san. I'm good at using people like that, you know?"_

A mere moment later, the assassin returned to normality, her knife completing its downward journey towards Nanaya's throat—only for the girl to go rigid as Shiki's blade touched her throat a split second before she made contact, with glowing blue eyes looking into blue.

'_He looks…like Papa…'_

"Hmph…it seems the reputation of the Nanaya family within the Organization was well deserved," Mana conceded brusquely, trying to hide how shaken she was at realizing she was affected by this, pulling her blade back from her fellow assassin's throat as she slid back into a neutral standing stance. "It is my loss…yet again."

"I wonder…are you aware of it now?" asked Nanaya Shiki, flipping backwards to his feet. "Your eyes, like mine, and your training, grant you the potential to be a most feared assassin, but you are not using it. You could have defeated me with your sudden attack this time, but you hesitated. Why?"

"I…"

"Was the reason you were afraid to land a fatal blow because I closely resemble your dead father?" Nanaya asked, not bothering to let up.

The Satsujinki visibly flinched as the older assassin's words struck a nerve, but simply waited for the Nanaya to make his point, as she sensed he was not yet finished.

"As assassins, our greatest strengths come from our instincts, our ability to unconsciously process situations," the man continued, looking intently at the Ryougi. "To know the smell of the attack that causes instant death, the feel of how something should be cut to destroy it, to sense without thinking what an opponent is likely to do. But that is also our greatest weakness…"

The demon hunter's knife flashed as he raised it for a moment—and then sheathed his blade, turning his unguarded back towards Mana as he began to walk away. Two steps, a thoughtful pause, then the steps began again, with Nanaya's last words trailing out behind him.

"The title of Satsujinki is not one given lightly in my circles, as it is said that a Satsujinki is akin to a force of nature, futile to oppose, or even attempt to delay. If you would prove yourself worthy of that title, then next time we fight, show me what it means to kill something. Until then, I release you from my training…"

With that, he left for the day, leaving a thoughtful Mana standing alone in the middle of the clearing.

* * *

**Mount Fuji**

Within the safety of the compound the Six Houses of Kyoto had maintained within Mt. Fuji, Taizo Kirihara and Kaguya Sumeragi knelt on the opposite sides of a tatami screen, facing one another, with the two looking somewhat worse for wear. But then, that was to be expected, as they were the only survivors of the Six Houses of Kyoto, after the slaughter the night before, by virtue of their real selves having remained within Mt. Fuji itself, sending puppets to the meeting in their place, as the others had taken turns doing every few months, just in case something were to happen.

Taking tea together was par for the course for the two members of the Six Houses, but today, the atmosphere was particularly oppressive for rather obvious reasons, with the two reflecting on the aftermath of the brutal attack that had wiped their associates from existence—and who might be behind it. True, the Britannian news had attributed it as Zero's doing, something which seemed logical enough, but then, it seemed the current fad to blame Zero for every crime without a known culprit, every sound in the shadows, turning the masked man into the bogeyman of Area 11.

Still…

"It wasn't Zero, I'm sure of it," Kaguya spoke up suddenly, causing the founder of Kirihara Industries to give a start as the young girl broke the silence. "Whoever caused the slaughter last night, it wasn't Zero. I deem it more likely that certain elements within the Empire—possibly the Mage's Association—have finally decided that we should be eliminated…"

"Of course you would say such a thing. As you have had a crush on Zero ever since he saved Suzaku Kururugi," Kirihara chided, not having the childlike faith (or hero worship and admiration) that the young headmistress of the Six Houses had for the man. Why, she had even refused to believe that Zero could be the vampire murderer—even when that would have fit how the man only appeared at night, and how he might have possibly convinced Jeremiah Gottwald to attack (as vampires were quite well known for having the ability to hypnotize others). "Do you forget what the general population of Japanese people thinks of us, Lady Sumeragi? How we are seen are traitorous collaborators who aid Britannia in oppressing our countrymen, and how we are despised for it? How many wish we were dead, not knowing of what we do for them?"

"I have not forgotten, but I believe that Zero is different," Kaguya stated with quiet conviction. "Had he desired to eliminate collaborators, he would have had no reason to save my cousin from his death, preventing the Purists from dismantling the system of Honorary Britannians."

"What better time than to discredit a powerful faction of Britannians?" Kirihara countered, using cold logic against her beliefs. "Saving Suzaku Kururugi was most likely just a means towards that end, a highly dramatic incident, much like his later murders."

"Ah, but there is a discrepancy between these events in that _Zero_ _never _physically appeared_,_" Kaguya pointed out, ready and willing to engage in a battle of wits to defend her "husband to be", as it were. "While one part of the last two incidents—the fact that high-profile individuals were present—matches, the fact that Zero himself was not present does not. More to the point, none of our associates or servants began exhibiting unusual behavior, as people to seem to do in Zero's presence. Given this, and what I witnessed, it strikes me as more likely that the order for our elimination came from a faction of the Britannians, who, after gaining a strong enough foothold in Area 11, now desire direct control over Japan's industries…"

"And the elimination of the Britannian nobility?" rumbled Taizo Kirihara, looking for flaws in Kaguya's reasoning. "Would that have been done by Britannians as well? I find that unlikely…"

At this, Kaguya only smiled, as Kirihara had given her another point to use against the elderly industrialist.

"Not so unlikely when one considers the identity of the current Governor General."

"Oh?"

"The Vampire of Britannia is a homicide genius," Kaguya explained, eyes growing narrow and sharp at the mention of the Knight of Ten. "Among other distasteful acts, he is quite known for being willing to sacrifice those considered his allies for his own gain, showing little care for friends or foe, so long as he can cause destruction. As such, I believe that the massacre last night and the one several nights ago were sanctioned by Britannia itself—perhaps by the direct command of the Governor General, or perhaps by a faction that shares his viewpoint."

The girl allowed the older man some moments of silence for Kirihara to mull over the information in his mind, trusting that he would come to the same conclusions as she.

"What you say does have some merit, Lady Kaguya," the elderly industrialist allowed, though he was not entirely convinced. "However, I cannot discount the possibility of Zero being involved in this, given his earlier involvement in Shinjuku, as well as his pathological hatred of Britannia and all related to it."

"Still, considering the recent imposition of martial law throughout Area 11, it would have been quite difficult for Zero, or any other Japanese individual, to leave the immediate area of the Tokyo Settlement or the ghettos surrounding it—and if he could not leave, how could he organize a strike of that nature against the Kyoto House," Kaguya pressed, her argument surprisingly effective—except for one thing. "Much less find a way to simultaneously strike at each clan, or arrange the participation of foreign homunculi capable of breaking my barriers…"

"…if he was a magus, as I suspect, then he would have his ways," Kirihara argued, yet continued to mull over her words, a frown settling onto his face after some time. "Though I concede that the involvement of homunculi suggests the Association at work…"

"Further, given Zero's actions up until now, everything he has been confirmed to do has been in the Tokyo Settlement, and considering the recent state of affairs, I would think that he would be preparing for the Britannians' planned assault on the ghettos," the soft voice of the young headmistress murmured. "Given Zero's flair for the dramatic—evident in the extravagant nature of his appearances and actions, I would think that crushing the Britnannian army would be a more fitting objective for him than slaughtering those of us in Kyoto."

Another long period of somewhat oppressive silence as the two simply sat in thought and expectation, the tea ignored.

"…you may well be correct," Kirihara muttered thoughtfully, at first beginning to nod, then stopping, realizing that she would not see his actions. "Of course, if we are to believe that Britannians are causing this unrest, shifting the blame to Zero so they may move in secret, it is possible that Zero is not Japanese at all, but a Britannian."

A beat of silence, as Kaguya cocked her head to the side, blinking.

"Hmm, from the rumors we have heard, Zero was able to predict what the Britannian commander would do with ease, outmaneuvering a prince of the Empire with ease," the young girl recalled aloud, reciting what she had learned. "And then, during the incident on the bridge, Acting-Viceroy Jeremiah Gottwald, the leader of the Purist Faction, was compelled to obey by a mention of something called 'Orange.'"

"Indeed, I have wondered myself what this 'Orange' is that compelled the Viceroy to obey," Kirihara admitted. Truth be told, it still puzzled him for quite some time, though he had concluded that Orange was likely a codeword signifying a member of the royal family—one of the few that outranked a Margrave. "And it is possible that Zero is not Japanese, though I cannot think of a Britannian who would have such hate for the Emp—"

Kirihara cut himself off, startling as he made a sudden realization, the image of a certain raven-haired exile that had been sent to Japan as a political hostage appearing in his mind's eye, an angry child who had sworn once to obliterate the country that had cast him out.

"Oh, but wasn't there one?" Kaguya asked, her contemplative tone mirroring his thoughts. "A certain Britannian boy who lived at the Kururugi Estate seven years ago?"

One she somewhat remembered, having seen him when she was brought to the estate to meet her at the time fiancée and cousin, Suzaku Kururugi. A somewhat sullen boy who cared about his sister, but had a powerful darkness hidden away inside him, a cold killing rage that he had displayed a few times when provoked by Suzaku.

"You speak of the prince abandoned by his country, the former Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire—Lelouch Lamperouge," Kirihara murmured, his tone suddenly more accepting. "If it is he who is Zero…"

"…then wouldn't he be a valuable ally?" Kaguya inquired, trying to stead the conversation in the direction she wished it to go. "He knows full well what it means to be abandoned by one's people, and while angry, I don't think he would kill those uninvolved. That's why I don't think that Zero is behind the killing, since a man as intelligent and courageous as he would realize that attacking the Kyoto House would only hurt his cause. That is why I think the real threat is the Britannian administration itself…"

"If he were Zero, you would be correct," Kirihara said at last, as the elderly industrialist sighed. "For now, the truth remains to be seen, and what happens in the Settlement in the next few days will reveal much about whether this masked figure would be worth risking contact with. Incidentally, concerning the matter of recent attacks, should Britannia discover that we are still alive, then…"

"Yes, we should alert the Fujou siblings to the possibility of a coming attack, bringing our security force to high alert," Kaguya agreed, making a note to do so as soon as this conversation was done. "As well as allocating them more Sakuradite from our emergency reserve, so that they may continue to supply our security drones."

"I mention, not for the first time, that it rankles to have to rely on the remnants of a family of demon hunters to protect us, even if they once served another family of hybrids," Kirihara muttered, though he would live with his annoyance. "Still, there is nothing for it…in this time, it is a necessary thing to rely on the devil one can reason with against the devil one cannot."

**

* * *

**

**Training Area 69 - Θ Desolate Frozen Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 54_

'_Five gates revolving – locks open!'_

A spectral menacing ball of magical energy, holding together a swirling mass of what seemed a vortex of microscopic cutting shards of ice hurtled through the air towards a rather winded magus, a raven-haired exile that seemed only a step or two from collapse, his clothing tattered, his skin covered with nicks and scrapes and other evidence of close encounters with extreme cold. Yet his eyes were clear, filled with a sense of determination and defiance as he stared down the attack, readying the staff in his hands.

'_I should have expected the succubus to subscribe to the principle of overkill,' _Lelouch groused mentally, preparing to counter as best he could. _'Until now, I was able to use my staff to deflect some of the lower level ice spears, but…this is ridiculous. This menacing ball attack is on a whole other level …'_

No doubt, White Ren would expect him to simply dodge, reading his movements by her total awareness of what happened in this snowy world – awareness that she had stressed that he develop as well, usually by blindfolding him while she hurled balls of energy and ice bullets at him, stressing that he learn what the subtle disturbances each spell imposed on reality felt like.

Lelouch had indeed learned this for the limited variety of spells that White Ren had thrown at him over and over—and over—again, even if it had taken some time to get his body up to par to react with the speed his mind demanded.

The ball of magical energy raced for the magus, bearing enough power to rip his body apart five times over, and as it approached, the exile closed his eyes as if accepting his death, his lips quickly muttering…something.

'_As my _master_ says, it is useless for the eye to see if the body cannot keep up…' _the magus thought, concentrating the flow of mana throughout his body, shaping it to his will. Though he was wounded and sorely tired, his magic circuit was stable, still able to work magecraft—to channel the energy he needed for a spell to impose his will upon the surrounding world. _'So then, I'll just have to disappear from her eyes!'_

"Water of the eternal ocean, existing in air, existing in earth, come! Become as a wall and defend me from my enemies," the magus chanted rapidly, throwing his arm forward and giving form to the raw magical energy surging through his circuits by speaking completing his spell, binding illusion to reality! "_**Eightfold Shield: Frozen Earth!**_"

_CRASH!_

The quiet shout shook the very air as it was spoken, as the great mass of whirling ice blades slammed into the impromptu barrier, as eight overlapping petals of ice appeared in empty space, forming a jagged crystal shield like a snowflake that interposed itself between the succubus' attack and the magus, the greatest protection that Lelouch can currently muster.

_Screeeeeeee! Crack! Crack! Crack!_

But the demonic attack simply tore through the layers as if they weren't there—one, two, three, four…a sixth, a seventh…

'_This isn't good…'_ Lelouch thought, pouring mana from his reserves through all of his Magic Circuits to counter the power of the succubus' attack, willing his shield to remain intact with everything he had. Because he had chosen to stand his ground instead of dodge, there was no way to retreat now, and if the shield gave way, he would be killed—or at least knocked unconscious, depending on how much of the power of the attack had been ablated away. _'Come on, come on…hold hold hold hold hold!'_

_Screeeeee! Splinter._

But he could not hold, and the final petal gave way, the maelstrom it had been blocking surging forward to slash and tear at his body with a thousand icy blades!

"Hm?"White Ren murmured in surprise, noting the flare of mana that had just emerged from the young magus she was training—and that her spell had slammed into him despite his efforts. "Perhaps he is not yet ready for—"

_Whoosh!_

"—_eh?"_

With a fierce battlecry half born of excruciating pain, Lelouch had launched himself into the air by using what remained of his mana to cause pillars of ice to erupt from the ground beneath his feet, and was currently plunging towards the shocked succubus, staff raised to catch the catgirl unaware—

_Thump! Splat!_

—only to be stopped by an instantly summoned barrier, seemingly one of those ice mirrors that the succubus was so fond of, with the magus' weapon crashing into the too-sturdy mirror, soon followed by his body, which bounced off and landed with a splat in the snow.

"Ouch…" the exile groaned, barely managing to drag himself to his feet and get into a defensive stance, glaring at his demonic master. There were wounds all over his body, and his clothing was torn almost to rags, evidence of having endured an outrageous attack—and survived. His face, too, was strained in pain, not only from his wounds, but from the screaming of his nerves as well, as he had dumped more magical energy through them than he was used to.

Still, as much as he wanted to just leave and sleep things off, the raven-haired prince knew it was not an option, as quitting without the succubus' consent would just result in a world of (additional) pain for him. But then, such was the price of training with a demon, even one that looked innocent sometimes.

"Oh, how interesting…you managed to deflect my attack? And with a spell based off of my Ice Mirrors…" White Ren purred with a saccharine sweet smile, one that brought a chill to the magus' stomach. Lelouch knew that smile, and knew that nothing good would come of the petite succubus looking that amused, even if that was the expression normally found on Nunnally's face. "Huhuhu…in that case…should I start getting a little serious?"

'_Oh…'_

White Ren's red eyes seemed to glow with sadistic malevolence as she purred in the fashion of a satisfied cat, and in the next moment, an overwhelming level of killing intent exploded from the demon cat's body, nearly sending Lelouch to his knees as his body screamed to run away from what his instincts told him would be certain death to face.

"_**Sword of Execution!"**_

In the space of a second, the white-clad succubus had closed the distance between herself and Lelouch, spinning about with her right hand wrapped with magical energy, which stabbed outward from the direction of the outstretched fingertips in the rough approximate form of a blade—a blade she brought towards Lelouch's neck!

_Fzt! Clang!_

But the magus managed to escape death via a last moment, desperate interposition of staff between sword and his body. Astonishingly, his weapon resisted being cut in two, merely humming steadily as it drained the power of the spellblade.

'_What kind of weapon is that?'_

Probably the same one that the succubus had used against him when he had fallen into the trap of going after her illusionary duplicate—one that was deadly to the touch, draining the energy of its surroundings just by existing, something the magus was becoming quite aware of, due to the bone-chilling temperature left in the spell's wake.

_Slash! Swipe!_

Two steps back, two more, three—it was all Lelouch could do to defend himself from the storm of blows aimed at him with the intent to kill, his staff arcing. Yet, he was still standing, still fighting—more than the exile would have been capable of at the beginning of his training so very long ago.

'_How long has it been since I began walking down this road…? I find I don't remember…'_

_Slam! Fzt!_

"This is odd," the petite succubus noted, her interest piqued as she noted that her student's weapon was surviving her onslaught, and what was more—seemed to be draining her spell of power. "Any normal weapon would have been destroyed by now…ah, I see, this is one of the Grey Witch's creations—one that mirror the lower-level effects of my spell. A pity you don't have more mana, or we could test it, eh? Well well, let's see what you can do now!"

_Clang_! _Crash! Slam!_

Before Lelouch had discovered the existence of magecraft, he would never have thought such brutally powerful blows could have come from such an innocent looking girl—but then, by now he had learned to distrust the obvious _as well as_ the hidden, analyzing a situation or person for the multiple layers of deception that were sure to exist, on pain of well…pain.

'_Don't just look underneath someone's mask, but assume there are other masks underneath the first one, constructed either consciously or unconsciously,' _was the admonition thatWhite Ren had told him during one of the few breaks he had been allowed by the succubus. _'The same is true of strategy, action, or many other things, where everything is structured in myriad layers of thought and deed.'_

Still…

_Crash! Vrrr! Slash!_

"_Master," _the exile forced out, as the succubus increased the power and speed of her strikes. "Forgive me…for asking, but… are you trying to kill me?!"

He was panting, quite winded by and unsure of whether he could go on for much longer.

"Huhuhu…it's true that this is a vicious spell meant for no purpose but destruction, but you've held up so far, even if I've been holding back," the red-eyed demon familiar purred, her lips curving up into that smirk that Lelouch so feared once more. "Or should I try?"

'_I shouldn't have given her any ideas…but she wouldn't really kill me…right?'_

He didn't think that was the case, given that White Ren seemed to treat the exile as something of a toy to play with, and thus probably enjoyed tormenting him too much to kill him—but he couldn't be too sure, and therein lay the rub.

"Hm…eight vital points that I could strike…head, spine, liver, jugular, lungs, arteries, kidneys, heart," the succubus rattled off one after the other, as she slashed and hacked at the reeling magus, her voice laced with the same amount of relish she displayed when listing off types of cake. "Now which one should I hit first?"

'_Well,'_ Lelouch thought grimly, continuing to defend as best he could, using his longer reach and legs in an attempt to fall back faster than his opponent could advance—to no real use, since she could reinforce her body and Lelouch could not. _'If she tells me which one…'_

"Why not all at once?"

'…_what?'_

"_**Flashing Sheath: Eightfold Slash!**_"

With a burst of speed Lelouch had never seen the succubus achieve before, White Ren shot forward, all but disappearing from his sight as her weapon flashed through the air. In what seemed like an instant she had come within striking distance, breaking through his defenses with ease.

The world went white for an instant as a scream of terror and anguish tore from his throat, all sensation blanking from his mind as everything overloaded. Next he knew, the magus was slumped over on his hands and knees, his staff was lying in the snow some distance away, while innumerable lines of pain burned across his every inch of his body.

Shaking with exertion just to remain conscious, the exile lifted his head to look at his master, as if hoping that the torture would be over for the day.

"_**Demonic Ice Mirrors!"**_

A field of mirrors rose from the ground all around Lelouch, enclosing him within a dome of spinning ice mirrors, converging closer, closer, closer still as—

_BOOM!_

—they shattered with a powerful concussive blast, after which everything mercifully went dark.

* * *

**Unknown Location, European Universe**

Given the current situation, one might expect that the Executive Director of the Sea of Estray would be rather annoyed, to say the least, from the reports she had recieved. One might expect a large stream of magi filing in and out of her office as she handed out missions and assignments in preparation for the upcoming war with the Clock Tower and the Holy Britannian Empire. One might even expect her to be meeting with representatives from Atlas and the Burial Agency regarding their upcoming plan of action, in her great cavern of an office with the ceiling and floor engraved with the silver sigils of the Tree of Sephiroth. One might even expect all of these things to be happening all at once.

And one would be wrong.

Perhaps even dead wrong, if one was to interrupt her with more bad news, as the Director was currently in the process of comparing two curry dishes – a green tea curry, with green tea powder mixed with rice and butter while cooking, and a special leek curry – with those from the past few weeks, trying to determine which was the best one so far.

A dilemma that two—no—three—of her associates were helping her to resolve by tasting the two dishes and comparing notes—not the most usual assignment for two extremely powerful magi and a several hundred year old familiar created from a unicorn horn and the soul of a young woman, but one that they had come to expect at least once a week during "department meetings" – and one they were prepared to overlook, given that most powerful magi tended to develop some eccentricities over time.

And while she was a notorious curry lover and costume fetishist, there was no denying that Elesia Roa Ortenrosse was one of the most powerful magi of her time, as she not only wielded the powerful blade "True Demon Neardark" (which had made her more or less immortal due to a curse – one of several reason she had been styled as "Serpent of Akasha" – the others including her general cold bloodedness and ruthlessness), but also the Seventh Holy Scripture—a weapon loaned to her by the Church for her services over the years—

"Master, I have to say the carrot curry from last week was better."

—whose spirit somewhat unfortunately had a habit of manifesting in her physical form as a familiar, usually demanding carrots or some other such (not entirely unexpected, given its origins).

"No, I would respectfully have to disagree," a second voice broke in, with Bazett Fraga McRemitz, dressed in the usual brown suit and tie ensemble that she wore on business, shaking her head as she reached for her glass of Irish Red Ale next to her dish. "I cast my vote for the Creamy Curry Shepherd's pie from the week before that. It was quite a welcome change from the German food the kitchens of the Thule Society's main compound are so fond of producing."

Which was quite a concern for her, really, considering that the redhead was the Director of the Thule Society (the group of magi that studied Rune Magecraft), having been chosen for the post for her ability, her bloodline, and her status as the wielder of the Noble Phantasm Fragarach.

Director Elesia grumbled under her breath about some people not having any taste for exotic food that she had had to import from Area 11 and the Militarized Zone of India, but it was good natured grumbling, the kind she only showed to those she considered friends, of a sort.

"And you, Illya?" Elesia asked, turning to the last member of their little lunchtime gathering, a white-haired, red-eyed young woman dressed in a coat and slacks adorned with an intricate black and silver design and a red longcoat draped over the ensemble, head cocked thoughtfully as she looked between the two dishes.

"The leek, I suppose," Illya spoke, after a few more moments of consideration. "The combination of leeks—some raw and some sauteed—makes for an interesting mix of flavors. The sweet flavor of the caramelized leeks blends with the light, stinging spiciness from the raw…it's quite well made. Thanks for the treat, Elesia."

As a homunculus based on the genetic material of the late Sorceress Lizleihi, Illyasviel von Einzbern did not often eat, seeing as food was somewhat unnecessary to sustain her as long as she had an adequate supply of mana. So on the rare occasions when she did eat (usually during one of the Executive Director of the Sea of Estray's working lunches—which tended to mean curry, unless someone else brought something), she savored the experience, knowing that it would be a long time until she could eat again.

Her existence was a closely guarded secret of the Sea of Estray, as she had been created in an effort to reclaim the Third Magic, and though she had proven a failure in that purpose, her own brand of magecraft, or alchemy, rather, was still quite powerful, and she was one of the Praha Association's most skilled members, considered the equal of the Director—in whose place she was attending this meeting.

A meeting at which the three highest-ranking magi in the Sea of Estray were present, which usually meant something less than a social get-together. True, to most, these meetings would seem to be a mere lunch gathering at first, but then, most didn't stay long enough for the ritual of the weekly lunch to end, with food and light conversation set aside in favor of business.

Elesia Roa Ortenrosse glanced around the table, noting that all members present seemed ready to discuss the more formal business of running a large organization, and so without further ado, turned to the purpose of this day's assembly.

"Illya, considering that you requested today's meeting, I take it you have something to report?" inquired the blue-haired Serpent of Akasha, her gaze fixing on the homunculus. "Perhaps something concerning Lord Rowan's mission as liaison with Atlas and observer of the Middle Eastern Federation skirmish?"

"Unfortunately so," Illya reported grimly, lips twisting in distaste. "Unfortunately, things seem to be as we feared—the recent movements of the Holy Britannian Empire have the full backing of the Clock Tower, with the Witch of Britannia herself dispatched against us. And what's more, we have word that the Britannians are mobilizing the personal forces of the Knights of the Round, in addition to some of their home reserves, to join the portions of their fleet already en route."

Bazett Fraga McRemitz, whose particular area of expertise was battle magecraft, and would likely be called to lead a task force of Sea of Estray's magi in case of invasion, frowned on hearing this, eyes suddenly alert and intense.

"Has Rowan managed to gather any specifics about enemy forces—or eliminate any of them?" the rune magus asked, interlacing her fingers as she set her arms on the desk before her. "And do we have any news of a possible alliance with Atlas?"

"Yes…we have negotiated an alliance of sorts with the Giant's Pit, as confirmed by the Atlasia herself, Sion Eltnam," the homunculus continued, idly noting that the Director's jaw had tightened at the mention of the name. "They will provide us with what support they can, in addition to harassing the Britannian forces from the south."

'_Ah, that's right…the Director of the Sea of Estray has a small feud with the Director of Atlas, considering that they were once both interested in the same man,' _the white-haired woman recalled, suppressing the urge to smile. _'It is amusing how two powerful women, one called the Serpent of Akasha, and the other, the Dust of Osiris, can hold a grudge over a topic like that…'_

"Is there anything they will send in particular?" Bazett requested, wanting to know any relevant details. "Perhaps the rumored _Mirage_ Knightmare that the Dust of Osiris designed? Or one of the Seven Great Weapons?"

"Now now, Bazett, you should know better than that," Illya chided, waggling her finger at the Irish magus. "Atlas' rules dictate that everything created in Atlas must be maintained and disposed of by members of the organization. In fact, we have a saying which goes something like 'Lift not the seal of Atlas lest ye wish to not have the world destroyed seven times over', since any of their weapons created to save the world might possibly bring on a worse catastrophe."

"…ah yes, hence the long-standing rivalry and dislike between your two organizations," Elesia said airily, a hint of impatience on her stern features. "Illya…any specifics would be useful, especially with the situation as it stands."

"There is the possibility that a replica of the Black Barrel will be forthcoming," the homunculus replied evenly, seemingly unaffected by the Serpent's stare. "Director Rowan will have more to report after his next meeting with the Council of Atlas. But I think you may find intelligence more useful…?"

A curt nod from Bazett, who now had a notebook open and was jotting down important points from Illya's report.

"As you know, one of the Atlas' auxiliary bases was destroyed during the invasion of the Middle Eastern Federation—though what you may not know is that that was exactly as Atlas had planned, as they had used that base and various defensive installations around it as a decoy to delay the Britannians and lure them into a trap," Illya continued, with the rest of those in the room paying rapt attention to this. "They took excellent advantage of their terrain, conjuring a sandstorm to deny access to the Britannian ground forces, which worked to great effect."

"Until the Britannians brought in their North Atlantic Fleet," Bazett noted, running through the possibilities for what they could have done. "I assume they glassed the desert?"

A nod from the homunculus, to which the rune magus replied with a snort.

"Typical, just about what I would expect from an Empire which relies on overwhelming force…no subtlety at all—and yes, Illya, I am aware of my own lack of subtlety compared to some," the Irish magus quipped to preempt her friend's chiding, shaking her head. "Though I don't deny their air power is…quite impressive. I am not sure that the Euro Universe's own forces are up to dealing with a full-scale invasion…"

"I share the same concern," the head of the Sea of Estray agreed, frowning. "The Witch of Britannia and her servitor, the Spearhead of the Empire, are large enough threats, in addition to the North Atlantic Fleet currently stationed in the conquered MEF…unless Lord Rowan or Atlas was able to deal with that threat?"

"Only in part," Illya admitted with a touch of regret. "Unfortunately, the Witch of Britannia was intelligent enough to scatter the fleet among several cities, so the Director was not able to cripple them all. He managed to wipe out over a third of the ships—all of those stationed at Cairo, but the remaining ships are now apparently being heavily guarded by magus killers—some of them Irregulars, apparently."

"So in other words, a significant enough portion of the invasion force remains that we cannot afford to have Britannian reinforcements arrive," Elesia summed up, expression souring—though not enough to prevent her from taking another spoonful of green tea curry. "And Atlas' tactics, while useful in the desert, are impractical here, as we do not have access to large quantities of sand or other such that we could use as—"

The Executive Director of the Sea of Estray fell silent as a gleam appeared in her eye, her face taking on a beatific expression.

"Master…what are you thinking?" the spirit of the Seventh Holy Scripture asked nervously, knowing that look as something usually dangerous to the health of a good number of people. "You're making _that_ face again…"

"—simply that we may be able to use their tactics after all, Seven," Elesia replied, moving behind her desk and pulling out a file folder from one of her filing cabinets, which she placed in front of the other two magi, flipping it open to the front page of the dossier within to reveal a single name: Sumire.

"Ah, of course, the Dead Apostle called the Water Demon," Illya mused aloud, raising both eyebrows as details came to mind. "The only being alive currently capable of using Marble Phantasm, a power which can alter probability to make any possible event occur…interesting. What exactly did you have in mind, Elesia?"

"I am aware of one surefire way to firewall the Euro Universe from any intervention from Britannia, and that involves the most well known features of the Empire's Area 5," the Serpent of Akasha stated calmly, pausing for a few moments just to catch her associate's interest. "Triggering the simultaneous eruption of all of Iceland's volcanoes via Marble Phantasm, the only power that can guarantee such a natural disaster will occur, while sending enough magi to altering the wind patterns so that any fallout will drift over Britannia…"

Silence reigned in the room as the rune magus and the homunculus just sat there, absorbing the words that their Executive Director has spoken—truly an audacious and coldblooded plan. But then, if it was for the purpose of the greater good, and would prevent the Britannians from sending the bulk of their forces to the Euro Universe, then it was worth it.

'_When there is threat that one cannot defeat by fair means, then use unfair means,' _the Serpent of Akasha thought to herself. _'For the protection of those under my authority, I shall simply have to sacrifice the few for the sake of the many, just as the world does.'_

"And how would you propose we contact Sumire?" Illya asked, not seeing how they could get to the underwater castle of the Dead Apostle Ancestor, much less have her to agree to use her Marble Phantasm on the Sea of Estray's behalf.

"A good question, that," Elesia intoned, though she already had a plan. "Bazett, how many rare alcoholic beverages do you have in your collection?"

"A considerable—" Bazett began, but just as quickly broke off, looking at the Director shrewdly, "you're going to bribe her, aren't you?"

"Whatever means are required to meet the necessary ends," the head of the Sea of Estray agreed, smiling ever so slightly. "Seven, the job of making contact will be yours…for the duration of the trip you will be assigned to work with Illyasviel, who will be given the right to negotiate on my behalf. Is that acceptable?"

"Acceptable enough. Truly, you are worthy of your title, Serpent of Akasha."

**

* * *

**

**Training Area 44, Θ Eternal Sacred Moonlight  
**_Day Equivalent 55_

Softly, eyes were slowly opened, and like emerging from mud, the consciousness awakened from a deep and fevered sleep, with a somewhat puzzled Mana Ryougi lifting her head to find that she was sitting at a booth in a mostly empty café, her back against a divider–though she could sense a diner sitting behind her. In front of her was a steaming cup of ginger tea, the scent warm and familiar, reminding her a little of home, but somehow, but didn't seem quite real.

'_There's a strange feeling I get in this place…one that reminds me of when I drifted through the void, as if I am once more on the threshold of the spiral of origin…'_

"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it?" an oddly familiar voice murmured from behind the Satsujinki, though Mana found that she couldn't quite place it. "I was wondering when you would come."

Raising an eyebrow at that last statement, the last Ryougi turned her head ever so slightly towards the speaker, catching a glimpse of a young girl whose form showed the slight awkwardness of someone just entering her teenage years, and who apparently shared Mana's taste in clothing.

"You've been waiting for me?" the Satsujinki asked quietly, "In this place that is no place…"

"In this time that has no time, yes," the girl agreed, turning her own head to face Mana as the Satsujinki froze, recognizing the blouse the girl wore, the impish expression on her face, and the blue eyes she had so often seen in the mirror.

"Are you…?" the assassin whispered, then thought better of it. She knew who this was. Feh…how could she not? If nothing else, she wished to know herself, as that was part of the art of war. "You're me, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am indeed Mana Ryougi," the girl said, smiling as if she was enjoying these snatches of conversation from the bottom of her heart. "Or rather, I was. Neither the self that watched nor the self that was watched, I was the self that remained asleep, the part of you that fell into the paradox spiral seven years ago. You could say, I am the self that dreamed…"

"Hmm…"

A considering sound, as Mana rifled through her memories since her first coma, finding that she did not have any records of dreams that weren't either lucid dreams that she used to hone her skills / take care of unfinished work from the day, or simply memories of the past and better days.

"So why am I seeing you now?" she questioned, wishing to know why she had been pulled here, drifting.

The younger girl simply laughed, a dainty sound like the tinkling of bells in the wind.

"What is 'now' in this place?" the doppelganger asked, an elfin smile flitting across her features. "It is always now…and I have been waiting…"

"Waiting for what?"

"To ask a question," the girl responded, her voice echoing through the café, and as she leaned over, turning her body more towards Mana, the Satsujinki caught a glimpse of what looked like one of Mitsuru-san's old manuscripts, though it wasn't a title she remembered. "Who are you?"

Mana blinked at the query, but decided she might as well answer.

"I am Mana Ryougi," the assassin replied simply, though she was pretty sure that would not be enough.

And she was right.

"But who is Mana Ryougi? And what does she want?" the girl asked patiently, her blue eyes shining with the light of maturity beyond her years as she looked at her older self.

"I…" Mana began to answer, then trailed off, gaze going distant for a minute as she gave the query some thought. "I of the Void, and yet I am one denies that nothingness. I am the one awake in the world, seeking an answer, the last of the Ryougis—and my Papa's child. I am a wanderer on the edge of emptiness, upon the road of twilight."

"Why are you here, Mana Ryougi?" the doppelganger pressed, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. "And where are you going?"

"I am here because I am tied to the Void, as mother was, I am here because I seek vengeance for the slain, I am here for self-knowledge, I am here because I am," Mana intoned, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. "As for where I am going, only the winds of destiny know for sure, as I seek, and I press on—even if I am hurt. Because that is the road that I must walk…the road of the Satsujinki."

"And do you have anything truly worth living for, Mana Ryougi?"

For a few moments, the only sound that could be heard was quiet breathing, then one word:

"Yes."

Another beat, as the young girl rose from her seat, with Mana mirroring her younger self's actions.

"Heh, I understand," the other said at last, turning towards the door on her side of the café and beginning to walk forward. "Well then, I guess you don't need me anymore. I was almost worried for a moment. But time flows on into the hazy distance, and what is revealed to you, I cannot sea."

'_Should I stop her…no. I have my road, and she has hers—the dreams of the past and the dreams of the present are not the same anymore…cannot be the same,'_ the Satsujinki thought to herself, walking towards the door on her own side of the café. But just as she reached it, setting a hand on the doorknob...

…she turned and gave a small wave of farewell to her doppelganger, mildly surprised that the other had turned to do the same.

"Heh…don't pick up any more bad habits, wherever you're going," Mana said by way of parting, though a teasing hint came into her voice. "And don't fall in love so easily, alright?"

"Feh…you already did that enough for the both of us," her younger self said, her smile blooming like a flower without a trace of shyness.

"Well…see ya."

"Farewell…"

Two doors opened and shut as one, as Mana Ryougi awakened from her sleep, traces of half-veiled memory still lingering in her mind as she mulled over her dreamlike encounter, where she had made a choice between the roads of past and present.

'_How odd to think about what I was, what I am, and what I may one day become…'_

Later that day, Mana sought out Shiki Nanaya for a rematch from last time, wishing to test herself against him now that she had made some measure of peace with her past.

'_And of course, to show him, that Shikage, that I _am_ worthy of my title…'_

So now the two assassins stood in the center of the clearing in the Forest of Death, knives drawn, eyes watching one another as they circled each other silently, each waiting for the other to make the first strike.

"One attack, Ryougi," Nanaya spoke into the silence, a neutral expression on his face. "Come at me and mark me with an attack, and I will acknowledge you. But if you do not…"

Several moments more of pacing, and then Mana smiled.

"I will hold you to that, Nanaya."

_Whoosh!_

As if to some unspoken cue, both fighters _moved_, faster than any normal human could go, pushing themselves to the limit as they struck at one another—knives coming together with a _clink_—and passed one another, ending up on opposite sides of the clearing.

"Oh, was that all? Was that all you wished to show me?" Shiki Nanaya inquired wryly, seeing no damage to himself. You barely managed to parry my knife."

"Who said anything about parrying?" Mana shot back, as a soft breeze began to blow.

_Crumble-thunk._

"Wha…"

At its touch, the venerable knife "Nanatsu-Yoru" crumbled to dust, followed moments later by all of the Nanaya's clothes save for his underwear.

'_No…in the moment she parried my blow, she was able to strike at my knife's point of death…and then my clothing as she passed?'_

Azaka, who had observed the match, now looked at the scene with wide and admittedly curious eyes, thinking that her beloved brother must have looked something like that once.

'_Ah, Shiki-san is indeed quite fit…bad thoughts Azaka…bad thoughts. Fujino would not be happy with you.'_

"I win, _Shikage,_"the voice of Mana Ryougi declared, in a voice that would brook no argument, her gaze of death boring into the older assassin's body, as she studied his lines, holding her knife easily in her hand, like an extension of her body.

"So it would seem, Satsujinki," Shiki Nanaya answered simply, the Ryougi's declaration jolting him from his extended bit of shock. "I acknowledge you as worthy of your title. Perhaps it is time we changed up our routine, ne?"

* * *

**Resistance Cell "Safehouse," Chiyoda Ghetto**

Night had come, plans had been discussed, things had been readied, and yet the fire magus Kallen Kozuki found herself unable to sleep. It was strange how in three short days the world had changed so much, with the members of her resistance cell now serving Zero as his newly fledged "Black Knights", with Sayoko Shinozaki, a _ninja maid_ of all things, helping to coordinate communication between Ashford Academy, the Knights, and the individual resistance cells they had been contacting.

'_Tomorrow will be the test for us all,' _the redhead thought to herself, unusually somber as she lay awake in bed, thinking of all that might go wrong. _'But things will go well, I know they will…because Zero has come through for us before, and so too has Lelouch when not acting as Zero. Tomorrow we will fight for survival, we will fight for justice, we will fight for victory…'_

And as she sighed, feeling her eyelids growing heavier and heavier, Kallen thought she could hear a dry, sardonic voice, saying: "Even a messiah must produce miracles."

* * *

**Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 60_

It was night, and outside, the snow-covered world was illuminated by a ghostly silver light, a white sea with islands of grey over which floated the low-hanging moon. It was a magnificent vista, timeless, a world free from the depredations and violations of man, where the only traces of conflict were those that people brought here in the name of training.

'_As I do each day…' _

So Lelouch Lamperouge thought to himself as he rested in his room, laying in bed uneasily, as he had for several hours. After another few days of pain following the first time he managed to cast a combat spell, his _teacher_, the sadistic little succubus named White Ren, had approved of his progress, and told him that tomorrow, group training could begin, so he could learn to use his abilities to support others.

'_But who will I be training with?'_ the exile wondered to himself, only to find that he had no real idea, since aside from the two succubae and Zelretch, he didn't know who else might have access to this area. _'Perhaps someone associated with Zelretch—or the Witch? Anything has to be less torturous than my current demon of a master…'_

Indeed, as with most days, Lelouch had exhausted himself from the rigorous training regimen, but this time, he found that he couldn't fall into a deep sleep. The wounds covering his body, numerous bruises and scrapes and shallow cuts, stung fiercely and would wake up his mind as it tried to sink into a deep sleep, just as his senses seemed more sensitive to every stimuli after his lengthy awareness training. Right on the very edge of consciousness…

_Tick, tick, tick._

There was an old fashioned clock in the room, and—

_Tick, tick, tick_

—the repetitive sound of the clock's second hand was beginning to get on the magus' nerves.

_Tick, tick, tick,_ _creak, tick, tick, tick_

"Eh?" Lelouch grunted, thinking for a moment that he had heard something else mixed in with the ticking. It sounded like the door opening, but who would be coming at this hour? Ren or White Ren perhaps, come to either heal or torment him?

_Tap, tap, tap_

No, there was no mistake, someone had come into the room, though with the dim illumination of moonlight, he could hardly see. He looked around, but didn't see anyone's silhouette, yet his senses were on edge, as someone was obviously there.

_Click!_

Light flooded the room, blinding Lelouch for a moment, though that quickly faded, revealing the forms of the Grey Witch and Mana standing by his bed, looking over his scrapes and cuts with some semblance of concern.

"C.C. and...Mana? What are you doing here?" the exile managed to inquire, sitting up and forcing his sleep-deprived mind to work properly, his thoughts racing through a number of different possibilities, with as benign as the two of them simply wanting to check on his training (and thus simply coming at an inconvenient time for _him_, since a 60:1 time compression ratio was rather difficult to deal with), to the possibility of something having gone horribly wrong (to the tune of unforeseen consequences in the aftermath of his (seemingly long ago) battle with the false Zero). Perhaps there had been a great battle he had been unaware of, or one that he was needed for, due to something the Witch had seen in the Kaleidoscope—he didn't know, and that led him to assume the worst. "What is the situation outside? Did something happen? Did we discover who one behind the Dead Apostle incidents was?"

"Something indeed, L.L.," the First Magician replied, glancing over at the Satsujinki with something of a smirk. "Something indeed. In any event, I merely wished to satisfy some concerns over your progress under the tutelage of Ren, a shy child who I know is not quite used to teaching others, normally even refraining from speech. Mana, on the other hand, has been training in this world as well, and was quite interested in meeting her apparent partner for group training, so I brought her along with me."

The Sorceress gave the prone magus a once over, eyes flashing as she examined his body thoroughly, as if seeing through the thin garment he was currently wearing in place of pajamas.

"...you are aware that my _master_, as she has me call her, is the sadistic white Ren?" the raven-haired prince asked dryly, feeling more than a little embarassed as the Grey Witch continued to seemingly undress him with her eyes. Frankly, her gaze was a little more disquieting than Milly snapping pictures of him in female attire—though not more so than Mana's eyes, who could truly see through him.

_'...and Mana is who I'm going to be training with?' _the exile thought to himself, swallowing in admitted nervousness. While he had never sparred against her, or had been forced to fight her in earnest (a fortunate thing, or he would have been either dead or simply very, very unhappy to be alive), he _had_ seen her handiwork several times—and it was as frightening as it was thrilling. _'But if that is the case, who will White Ren be joining with?'_

Someone else as sadistic as the petite succubus herself? But surely, that wasn't possible, was it..._  
_

"...ah, the one born of Ren and the remnants of the Dead Apostle Ancestor called TATARI, the mirror to the original," C.C. murmured, raising an eyebrow as she chuckled appreciatively. "That I was not, though I should have expected as much from Zel, twisted old joker that he is. Certainly more assertive, though apparently..."

"...somewhat hazardous to my health?" Lelouch offered sardonically, looking down at his aching body, which still showed the evidence of the day's "lessons."

"Indeed," the Sorceress intoned, her visage grave as she stepped back, apparently having finished her examination. "You do seem to be suffering from at least one major issue, one that could be troublesome if not dealt with...and since your death would be counter-productive, we may as well handle it now."

"Oh, care to enlighten me as to what might that be?" the raven-haired prince inquired, feeling somewhat uneasy as he looked from the Grey Witch to Mana. "And how it might be treated?"

The Grey Witch smirked at this, as if knowing something that the young magus didn't (alltogether possible, and alltogether true, given who she was).

"Mana deprivation," came the reply, with the Satsujinki beside her snorting and shaking her head.

"You always have to term it like that, don't you?" the assassin asked wryly, shaking her head, with her mane of lustrous black hair spilling like a waterfall as she did so. "And I suppose we should use the most effective treatment, then?"

"Efficiency is best," C.C. answered, still smirking as she leaned over and looked into her contractor's eyes, with Lelouch suddenly finding that most of his body seemed to grow heavy and non-responsive, though his consciousness did not. "Wouldn't you say so, Mana?"

"And what might this method be that requires you to immobilize me?" Lelouch queried, wondering exactly what kind of procedure would be performed. "Something that will cause me a great deal of pain?"

"I wouldn't say that," Mana broke in, almost seeming sly as she glanced at him. "Quite the opposite, in fact..."

"While you are...somewhat competent, L.L, you are certainly a bit dense, not even realizing why the two of us would come here this late at night to seek you out," C.C. quipped, lips curving up into an odd smile.

"Cute, but clueless, even if you did get into my blouse once," Mana finished, her eyes flashing as she stared at him unflinchingly. "But then, I'm good at using people like that."

_Thump._

Lelouch could feel something odd as Mana suddenly said an outrageous thing as she looked his way, her brilliant blue eyes blazing azure in the relative gloom of his surroundings as the Satsujinki examined his body with obvious interest, smirking slightly as she did so. For some reason, his heartbeat was beginning to quicken, and being looked at like that, he began to feel more and more uneasy, as if she was staring into the very core of his essence, seeing everything he had tried to hide away.

"Ma…na?"

Seeing her eyes made Lelouch begin to suspect that might be something wrong with the way they were acting, even through the fog of exhaustion and lethargy that affected him so.

While there was no hostility in that he could sense, he was on guard since he had a feeling that his master might wish to play a trick on him, but how…

"Oh, what's wrong, L.L?" the assassin murmured, her voice strangely amused, almost playful. "Suddenly looking away like that... you look like you're hiding something."

"Not particularly," Lelouch said stiffly, trying to remain calm by applying the principle of mind over matter—though in this case, it didn't seem to be working.

"You shouldn't lie, Lelouch, not to a Witch who knows your secrets," C.C. admonished, stepping up to the exile and pushing him down to his back, as Mana circled around to the other side and assisted her. "Now Mana, since you will be working _closely_ with our dear L.L, perhaps you would like to help me replenish his magical energy?"

The Satsujinki blushed lightly but nodded all the same, leaning down enough so that the Lamperouge magus could smell her scent, subtle and exotic and—

"Wait a minute, just how did you intend to—" he managed to get out, but—

"Why, tantric rites, of course," Mana answered clinically, her fingertips tracing the curve of his collarbone and the line of his jaw, her hot breath blowing across the arch of his ear, sending a tingle down his spine. "How else?"

"Wha—tantric—"

'_Wait a minute,' _the exile thought, eyes widening as something occured to him. '_White Ren…is a succubus. Considering the situation and all the information on succubae …there is the possibility that, oh no, don't tell me that…'_

"You think entirely too much, Magus Lamperouge," the assassin stated flatly, "... especially at a time like this."

And then his mind went blank as his lips were captured by those of the Satsujinki, his urge to protest crumbling under a torrent of sensations at her touch—and that of the Grey Witch, whose "advanced techniques" (which he recalled her joking about with Milly when he had first learned the basics of his Crest) overwhelmed him utterly, drowning him in pleasure, as if it was simply a drug that sent ecstasy racing through every hypersensitive nerve in his body, a drug that made him dream.

* * *

**A/N**: Lelouch is certainly going to have an _interesting _experience on the morrow, considering White Ren's penchant for mischief and who his training partner might be, ne? The best lies are always woven with a leveaning of truth, after all, and considering that Nanaya and White Ren will be working together as teachers...can someone say awkward situation? In other news, the war is on, the war is certainly on. Thanks for reading, and if you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints, please do leave a review. Feedback is greatly appreciated for an author, and is often the best encouragement of all.. ^^

As an unrelated note, I am thinking about creating an Evangelion/Type-MOON (including *Angel* Notes) crossover now, thanks to the prodding of one of my readers. Any thoughts on that? PM me with suggestions/ideas/etc.


	17. Encroaching Shadows

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 61_

Oft it has been said that all good things must come to an end, and so the long moonlit night came to an end (as well as the tiring—but hardly tiresome—events therein), with the first tendrils of the morning sun creeping silently over the land that Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg had chosen as a refuge from the world millennia ago, parts of which were currently being used as a boot camp / training ground for Lelouch Lamperouge, a magus-in-training and exiled prince of the Holy Britannian Empire.

"Hnngghh."

From said magus' lips escaped a soft, involuntary groan of protest, the figure beginning to stir in his bed as he was assailed by errant rays of light from the world outside – rousing him all too quickly from a pleasant time of rest. Still, as much as he may have wished for additional sleep, Lelouch knew full well that the gentle touch of morning sunlight on his closed eyelids, insistently urging him towards wakefulness, was something he should obey, lest his sadistic "master" drag him out of bed and subject him to a special "hand-to-hand combat training session" – usually involving him being on the receiving end of the rather brutal blows that he had learned—the hard way—her deceptively fragile seeming frame could produce.

'_I suppose that one cannot underestimate the power of a demon – which means that I will need to be wary of Suzaku, should I encounter him again by chance,'_ Lelouch mused silently, noting that it was possible that the Honorary Britannian's ideals could become an obstacle to his plans. _'It is unlikely that he and I will cross paths again, of course, but as my shifting situation has taught me, stranger things can and do happen, so I will not make the mistake of dismissing the possibility.'_

For that reason, he needed someone who could match Suzaku in physical prowess, as well as supernatural ability in case the Honorary Britannian did in fact invert.

'_My two candidates for that duty being Kallen and…Mana…'_

At the thought of the Satsujinki's name, vivid recollections of the rather sordid night he had shared with the Witch and the Assassin flashed into his mind, sending a spark of arousal through his body at the memory of the way they had smelled, felt, tasted – memories he tried to suppress, but to no avail, as whatever else he was, he was still a teenager susceptible to biological urges (if not so much as some).

Granted, many at Ashford Academy considered him an ice prince, a dispassionate intellectual unaffected by flirtation or other seemingly irrelevant interests – especially in front of his sister, leading to a few rumors that he had a massive sister complex (not entirely warranted, given for whose sake he wanted to destroy Britannia) – but even he was vulnerable to weaknesses of the flesh.

Indeed, his apparent resistance was only due to the fact that he had the ability to focus all of his attention on his objectives, displaying a tenacious single-mindedness that allowed him to outplay many an opponent who did the same thing (but to an inferior degree, unable to see the hidden variables of a given situation). Still, an opponent who knew of this ability could turn his seeming advantage into drawback, as focusing too much on any one thing left one open to being tricked…especially if everything _seemed_ to be going according to plan.

Unfortunately, this had proven somewhat disadvantageous in the field, as White Ren had demonstrated on many occasions, tricking him with illusions that were nigh-indistinguishable from reality—save for the few that were as unsubtle as a hammer to the head—and taking advantage of the situation to attack him physically and psychically.

'_Complete awareness of the circle of control, a grasp of the transient facts without succumbing to the information high…White Ren has taught me well in that regard—though I do quibble with her methods at times,' _the magus grimaced. '_Still,_ _it does not help in compartmentalizing away what apparently happened last night…'_

Which was partially why the image of Mana's flushed face, lips slightly parted from exertion as she looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, remained firmly in his photographic memory—proving to be somewhat distracting to his thought processes.

Lelouch was tempted, sorely tempted, to dismiss the events of the night before as just another of White Ren's overly vivid illusions which were nigh indistinguishable from reality (especially given that his master _was_ a succubus, and succubae were notorious for giving mortals erotic dreams), but there was enough evidence to the contrary that it caused him to doubt.

For one, he could feel the sensation of satin sheets against his skin, a smooth coolness draped over his body—and which he could sense without an intervening layer of clothing (and he knew he had worn something before going to bed). For another, his body felt more relaxed and loose than it had in a long time, as if he had done something quite strenuous but not harmful the night before. And most damning of all, his mana reserves were completely replenished, which was unusual, to say the least, with even his magic circuits, which normally burned like lines of fire just under his skin from the strain of near overuse, merely humming with pleasant warmth.

'_Then again, C.C. has always been mildly unpredictable (to say the least)_, _and given her…hints in the past, I wouldn't put it past the Grey Witch to have arranged something like this. After all, magi are known for accomplishing their objectives in a most efficient manner – which last night would be, I suppose. Mana on the other hand…'_

Of the Satsujinki, Lelouch was rather more uncertain, since he had not spent as much time in her company. It was true that the assassin had displayed a playful side in the past, and could be rather persistent when it came to what she wanted, but…

'…_thinking about this without additional evidence will get me nowhere,' _the magus decided, mentally putting that issue aside as best he could for now. '_I should concentrate on assessing my surroundings to make sure that White Ren hasn't set any traps in my room while I was…otherwise preoccupied.'_

White Ren's teaching style, after all, was grounded in practical demonstrations and tests, and she had rather pointedly reminded him of the necessity of constant awareness by trapping him in an illusionary world several times over, usually catching him at the few moments he was off his guard – after a training session or right as he awoke, one keeping him trapped in an illusion for an entire day.

'_A scenario that I have no wish to repeat, given the humiliations of that day…I was tricked into believing that I had put on my usual uniform, when instead, it was merely a bunny suit disguised as such—which would certainly explain why my "master" was so amused. While under most circumstances, I would be the first person to agree that disguises and illusions can be quite useful in combat – there are occasions when even I will draw the line, as I am already subjected to enough loss of dignity from Milly. Besides which, the material of that…costume rather rides up in inconvenient places…'_

That last item being something most would consider a more minor consideration, though Lelouch would beg to differ, as that day had reminded him that a disturbed state of mind made spellcasting much more difficult, since magecraft relied on one's ability to shape the effect of one's magic circuits on the world.

If nothing else, the magus was forced to concede that his demonic instructor's object lessons were brutally effective, and given his philosophy of concentrating only on end results, he couldn't find too much (objective) fault with them (not that objectivity came easily after day upon day of seeming never-ending torment).

For that reason, the Lamperouge magus had not yet opened his eyes (since many of White Ren's illusionary techniques relied heavily on what could be seen—no surprise, given that most of a normal person's sensory input was visual data), instead concentrating his other senses in the way she had instructed him, probing for any untoward pockets or concentrations of magical energy—and to his surprise, finding none.

'_Hmm, nothing seems to be out of place – no disturbances in the room, no other presences…'_

There was only the usual sensations of satin sheets against skin, a sense of warmth draped over him, one of the few pleasures he enjoyed during training. And internally, he felt more comfortable than he had in a long time, a feeling of utter satisfaction nestled in the core of his body, which itself was seemingly more relaxed – and his mana reserves completely replenished, which was unusual. Even his magic circuits, which normally burned like lines of fire just under his skin from the strain of near overuse, merely hummed with pleasant warmth, setting him at ease.

Indeed, one part of him wanted nothing more than to just stay on his warm bed, enjoying the relaxed passage of time as he slept away the aches and pains of his training from the days before, but he knew he couldn't, since he was supposed to meet his training partner today, who according to the Grey Witch's words last night was apparently—

"It would be unwise of you to continue this charade of feigned sleep, Magus Lamperouge…your altered breath rate and the slight tension in your muscles betray you."

But his thoughts were interrupted by a very familiar, coldly dangerous voice that sounded right by his ear, the sensation of hot breath blowing across his earlobe sending strange shivers down his spine that made him recall the intimate details of the night before quite vividly.

'_Mana is here? Then…last night was…?'_

At the sound of the Satsujinki's voice, Lelouch swallowed, his body stiffening as half-remembered vestiges of her touch lingered on his flesh and played through his mind: the sensation of her breasts as she embraced him, her surprising softness of her lips on his, the supple smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her hands, the captivating scent and taste and feel of her supple body. But that wasn't important – what was important was that Mana was in his room, almost intimately close, seeming somewhat displeased.

'_As the assassin has demonstrated in the past, it is a dangerous thing to keep her waiting, so I had better do as she asks…I should awaken before my "master" decides to begin my torment anyway.'_

"So you've seen through my deception, Mana …" the exile said smoothly in an effort to act as if nothing had happened, as he opened his eyes—and found himself staring into the sharp blue of the Satsujinki's Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, with the young woman in question leaning close to him seemingly clad only in a thin robe, her face only centimeters from his as she studied him, her fingers curved almost like claws as they rested on the line of his jaw, _tap-tap-tapping_ at his skin in a way that made him…nervous, his heart _thud-thud-thudding_ in his chest, though from what, he couldn't tell.

"Deception indeed, Magus Lamperouge," she repeated coldly, her glowing eyes never leaving his as she spoke. Somehow her tone seemed different than what he remembered, and the exile had the distinct impression that he was being tested for something. "Tell me, L.L., is there something you want to say to me?"

'_Is this what they call the awkwardness of the morning after?' _aone small part of his brain mused abstractly, that isolated area which continued processing complex thoughts even under high-pressure situations. _'What does she want me to say to her?'_

"I…" the magus began, but his words died on his lips at the force of her stare, seeming to demand something from him. So he decided to try again, and calling upon a little of the easy confidence of Zero, continued, his lips twisting into a smirk of sorts. "I'm somewhat surprised to see you here, especially since last night seemed so much like a dream."

"So…you'll take responsibility for what you did then?" Mana asked quietly, her demeanor softening ever so slightly as she spoke.

"Take responsibility? Wasn't it you who was the eager one last night?" Lelouch returned, in an attempt to emulate her normal playfulness, only for a flare of murderous intent to paralyze him where he lay, as he felt the Satsujinki's slender fingers moving from his jaw to his neck, where she applied just enough pressure for her nails to dig lightly into his skin, making Lelouch uncomfortably aware of exactly how vulnerable he was at the moment.

'_Ah. Her fingernails are quite sharp…probably sharp enough to trace my lines of death…'_ he observed, trying to remain impassive, but failing, as he was disquieted by the possibility of simply being killed—and all without knowing why. _'Did I say something wr—'_

"What's with your attitude, Magus Lamperouge?" Mana inquired, her chilling tone seeming to plunge the temperature of the room to subarctic levels. "I came here tracking the source of a suspicious magic that compelled me to do…various things, last night. And as I suspected, here you were… the one who bears the degraded copy of the Unified Language and whose magecraft deals with consciousness."

"Wha—"

But she didn't give him a chance to speak, nor did the suffocating pressure of her aura diminish.

"Don't bother denying it, L.L. – I can see the lingering traces of the magecraft used," the assassin intoned, her sharp gaze never leaving his. "A power that intruded upon me while I slept last night, binding me in a dream wrought of primal yearnings. Doing such a thing…just what in the world were you thinking? Or were you even thinking at all, magus?"

'_Wait a minute. Magecraft – sleeping …dreams? ' _Even if Lelouch was not at his sharpest in the morning, his intelligence was not to be underestimated, especially after the brutal lessons of a sadistic succubus to be constantly aware of his surroundings. _'If I accept C.C.'s axiom that in magecraft there is no such thing as a coincidence, then that means…damn you, you sadistic little succubus!'_

"I don't normally have dreams, you know," Mana continued humorlessly, her voice somewhat more subdued. "Not as most people know them, anyway—when I sleep, I either see memories or a lucid space that I use for various things—which is how I know that what happened last night was the result of outside interference—that and the faint trail of power leading to this room."

Mana trailed off with a sigh, frowning slightly as she eased the pressure of her fingers on Lelouch's neck, as well as suppressing the terrifying amount of killing intent she had been emitting a moment earlier, her eyes returning to their more normal electric shade of blue.

"When I first woke up after what happened, I was quite angry, incredibly so, with my first impulse being to kill whoever had broken into my mind," the Satsujinki related evenly, frowning as she critically examined the supine sheet-covered body of the magus before her. "Following the 'scent' of the magic, I wandered through the castle into here, where I found you—dreaming, with that magic within you. At that moment, I was sorely tempted to simply just trace your lines of death…but as you can see, I managed to restrain that murderous impulse towards you."

"So what stopped you?"

The exile had not quite meant to ask this, but the question slipped unbidden from his lips anyway, hanging between the two as they simply looked at each other. They remained like that for several long moments, studying the other, each trying to guess what was on the other's mind.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly, considering that Lelouch had not had time to collect his thoughts), Mana was the first to break the silence, shaking her head once with a muttered "Feh".

"Several things—not the least of which is that your survival is apparently essential to the Grey Witch's plans—and for my revenge against Britannia," the raven-haired assassin said at last, her tone rather wry at the moment. "But more to the point, you were sleeping, in the grip of a spell and muttering…certain names, and it seemed you would not soon awaken. As I am not one to kill without reason, I wanted to at least give you a chance to explain yourself, to admit to your wrongdoings—or even to give an excuse for what you did."

The Lamperouge magus considered taking the offered opportunity to indeed, protest his innocence, but eventually decided against it based on what he knew of Mana, reasoning that instead of interrupting the Satsujinki's train of thought (and running the risk of antagonizing her further), it would probably be a better option to wait and see if she mentioned anything that would give him better insight into her current state of mind.

"So I decided to wait—and since I didn't have anything else to do, I simply sat on the side of the bed and watched you as you slept," the assassin continued, all but murmuring the last part of her statement, voice low and hypnotic. "Now don't misunderstand, L.L, I'm not interested in you. I just found it strange how still you were after the spell left you, hardly breathing, wearing a hollow expression on your face—almost like a corpse, as if you were but an empty shell merely going through the motions of living. "

'_A state I know only all too well, after spending so long simply floating in the Void,'_ she left unsaid, as it was something the assassin didn't really like talking about—and saw no need to share anyway. _'A state unknown to death nor known to life, where one merely exists, marking the passing of days as one stares into the abyss…'_

Lelouch's eyes widened fractionally at the Satsujinki's casual (but accurate) observation, a reaction that Mana noted with a humorless chuckle and a nod, as if having found what she was looking for. And indeed she had, using a trick that she often used in combat, attuning every one of her senses to her target to glean as much information as possible—information that sometimes spelled the difference between life and death.

This was not quite a combat situation, and yet…

"Don't look so surprised, magus," the Chokushi no Magan adept quipped drily, her lips twisting ever so slightly. "After all, my eyes reveal the world's uncertainty and fragility, how all existence is fated to crumble to nothingness. Compared to that, I rather think reading your emotional state is something of a bagatelle. In fact…"

With an intent expression, the assassin leaned close to the magus so that he could catch the scent of her body, closing the space between them little by little, taking note of every one of his reactions to determine his guilt—and then halting, having reached a verdict.

'_At the sight of my body, his pupils dilate, gazed flickering over my figure in a familiar fashion despite his attempts to stay focused on my eyes. There is the subtle scent of arousal, coupled with the secondary indicators of heightened breathing and heart rate, as well as a_ _slight tension. Yet…no actual fear—and more to the point…some confusion?'_

"Heh…it seems I won't have to kill you after all, L.L.," Mana muttered, as much for Lelouch's benefit as her own, with the beautiful figure of death pulling away from the magus abruptly and standing up. "Apparently, someone who dabbles in dream magic has apparently been toying with me…or perhaps with us both."

_Creak!_

The sound of the door opening caught their attention, as petite form of a certain white-clad succubus entered the room, giving the two already present an elegant, if mocking, curtsey.

"Why good morning, boya…and the infamous Satsujinki too," White Ren said by way of greeting, a deviously innocent smile on her face as she looked between the two. "How interesting it is to finally meet you, and to find you in my student's room, at that. Why, one might mistake the two of you for lovers…"

From her post by the window, the Satsujinki turned to regard the new arrival neutrally, though a trained eye would have seen her form tensing as if for battle.

"You…" Mana whispered, eyes narrowing as the instincts of her lineage screamed in her mind that the one who stood before her wasn't human.

"So…did you have a pleasant dream last night, boy?" the succubus asked, smirking as her gaze swept over at the supine sheet-covered form of Lelouch Lamperouge. "Cured your 'Mana Deprivation…', I hope?"

Lelouch gave a start at those words, shooting upright in bed and flushing as Mana turned the full force of her stare upon him…then upon White Ren.

"So it was _you…"_

"…who showed you a vision of carnal delight?" the sadistic demon familiar inquired solicitously. "But of course, I'm a succubus, after all. Besides, I only showed the two of you what you really wa—"

—_thud!_

White Ren's eyes barely had time to widen in surprise as six inches of tempered steel were plunged through her neck, transferred force of the vicious blow hurling the petite succubus against the cold stone wall, where—

_Clink! Shatter!_

—the succubus' ice clone crumbled, the enchantments upon it nullified all at once…or perhaps one should say…they were killed.

_Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap._

A slow clapping sounded from the hallway outside, with the source of the sound soon revealed to be Mana's instructor of sorts, Nanaya Shiki – the world's only bearer of the Mystic Eyes of Life Perception – who curiously had removed the bandages from his eyes.

"That was impressive…Satsujinki," the hardened killer casually commented as he looked at the wreckage from White Ren's ice clone, hands in his pockets as he remained outside the door, seemingly unconcerned (alternatively, he was quite on his guard, and so had strategically positioned himself outside the door so that there would only be one way in which Mana could attack him, putting his hands in his pockets for easy access to his knife). "So the Chokushi no Magan can even be used to kill spells, preventing their activation…fascinating…"

"Not as much fascinating as annoying," the voice of White Ren corrected with a touch of annoyance, as the cat-like familiar slinked into Lelouch and Mana's field of vision. "It is rather impolite to cut someone off in the middle of—"

_Clang!_

Nanaya's positioning had apparently been wise, as it allowed him to intercept the Satsujinki's knife with his own, having anticipated the Ryougi's likely emotional state.

"Now now, Satsujinki…it wouldn't do for you to kill my…assistant for the upcoming series of maneuvers, now would it?" the Shikage clucked in disapproval, smirking at his student of sorts, as—

_Whirr!_

—Mana disengaged, springing backwards in an instant, narrowly avoiding the spears of ice that erupted from the ground where she had been but a moment before, forming a barrier of razor sharp ice shards that forbade her from advancing.

"Exactly who are you calling an assistant, Nanaya?" White Ren asked pointedly.

"Why you, of course, little succubus," Shiki replied, smirking as he smoothly pulled back into a defensive stance, just in case his fellow assassin decided to risk attacking anyway. "After all, isn't that what you do best?"

"Hmph…why you…!" the demonic familiar sniffed indignantly, displeased that this…boy with a knife was challenging her authority. "You are far from a perfect gentleman yourself, you—"

"In any case, why so serious? Even if Ren's dreams are so realistic that one can't tell them apart from reality—they're only dreams, right?" Nanaya snarked, turning his attention back to the Satsujinki with something of a leer. "Oh wait…don't tell me it was your first time?"

Lelouch swallowed as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet precipitously once again, his nerves and instincts screaming for him to run away with all possible speed (which admittedly still wasn't much) as a frightening level of murderous intent exploded outward from Mana's quivering form, sheer force of it staggering all those present momentarily.

"Oh, it was, was it?" Nanaya surmised from Mana's reaction, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "So tell me, how was it?"

Now, the Satsujinki was usually known for her cold killing rage, a state in which she moved with absolute deliberation, synchronizing all her senses towards one goal – but now, her rage ran hot, form blurring she struck with the speed of a god, a thin silver line of light tearing through the wall of icy shards as if they weren't there to begin with.

Nanaya, reacting on instinct, moved to defend his lines—but failed, since Ryougi Mana blow was (for once) not aimed at his lines, her slash merely a feint for—

"Guh!"

—a brutal kick to the Shikage's unguarded crotch, the unexpected blow causing Nanaya to double over—

_Crack!_

—allowing Mana to slam the heel of a hand into her "teacher's" face, hurling him back towards White Ren as she accelerated, bringing her knife around to attack the succubus—

_Whirr!_

—only to miss by millimeters, as the figure of White Ren transformed itself into a mirror of ice, with the painfully moaning Nanaya sinking through the surface with nary a ripple. A demon, of course, was never to be underestimated, and while her "assistant instructor" had been goading Mana into attacking, so that the two could get a better assessment of her abilities, the succubus had been preparing an escape route for him (quite obviously, she was smart enough not to appear before an outraged killer who could actually end her existence permanently.)

Mana simply glared into the mirror, knowing that she would not be able to follow the familiar through it to wherever she had gone. Demonic techniques were not something she could replicate, after all…and so, taking a deep breath, she halted in place, sheathing her knife and visibly composing herself.

"Interesting, Satsujinki…so you recognize that from where you are, you have no way of defeating me and thus refrain from pointless actions," the succubus' voice purred from the mirror, as the image of her face appeared from its depths. "I approve – I can certainly see why the Witch chose you to accompany her in battle—with you as an escort, even a Dead Apostle would need to be cautious. You will certainly make a suitable…partner for the boy. "

"Do you have something of substance to say…old hag?" the assassin asked frostily, causing the succubus' face to twitch in annoyance. "Or did you intend to hide behind your illusions and insinuations, imposing the fantasies you wish you could live out into the minds of others, dream demon?"

"Oh, certainly I have something to say to you, little girl," White Ren replied, red eyes sharp as she matched the Ryougi's glare with her own. "I had imagined you as an emotionless killer, impossible to provoke, but this is much better. Another human with her foibles – you will certainly provide much amusement in the coming days, alongside that foppish student of mine."

"…if that is what you think, you are sorely mistaken, snow cat," Mana intoned quietly, eyes blazing with an eerie blue light that stripped away illusion. "After all, I have defeated far stronger foes than you…"

"But have you done so while needing to protect an incompetent magus like your dear Lamperouge?"the succubus shot back saucily, casting a glance towards where Lelouch was still laying in bed, the immediate events having occurred too quickly for him to adapt. "Even if he was quite…decisive in your dreams, he may not prove to be the case as…your partner."

The Satsujinki flushed faintly, a reaction that Lelouch did not miss, though whether it was one of embarrassment or anger, he couldn't really tell. Whatever else he was, his observation skills were certainly up to par—or getting there, after all that had been thrown at him in the two subjective months of training he had had.

"I take it you and the Shadow have come up with yet another sadistic training exercise?"

"Indeed," the voice of the white-clad succubus replied, a smirk slowly spreading across her delicate features. "If you feel up to it, come to Area 404 – Ω _**Abandoned Ruined Empire. **_I look forward to seeing the two of you…working closely together during the…survival training we have planned."

With that last insinuation, the mirror melted away into a puddle of water, leaving Mana and Lelouch alone in the magus' chamber, a strange tension lingering in the air in the wake of what had just transpired.

"Well then, Magus Lamperouge," the assassin said after several long minutes, donning her veneer of formality as she turned to look past the exile to the world outside the window. "It appears that our instructors were more sadistic than I would have expected. For what it's worth…I apologize—"

"No need," Lelouch interrupted, uncharacteristically quiet for once. "You were right in one way, at least: until that day in Shinjuku I was but a powerless corpse pretending to be alive. Living without power, without the ability to change my course—"

"—a state akin to a slow death," Mana filled in, with a fleeting trace of sympathy crossing her features, before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "One that you have not fully escaped, have you?"

"…no, which is why I endure the humiliation that my so-called master puts me through," the exile related, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Pushed to my limits by a superior foe, forced to adapt, to learn on the fly, with pain as my constant companion, and death a possibility. But then, those who wish to kill should be prepared to die…"

"An astute point for an amateur," the Satsujinki conceded after a bit of consideration. "Now get dressed and meet me outside—we must need head to Area 404 to see what that succubus familiar has in mind. And L.L.…don't disappoint me."

With those words and a painful smile, Mana turned and left the room, footsteps nearly silent as she strode away and out of sight, leaving the amateur magus utterly alone, his mind beginning to race through the various possible scenarios that White Ren might have prepared for him, though an errant thought caught his attention in the wake of the assassin's departure.

* * *

**Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel, Area-11**

As a Britannian in Area 11 and a student of Ashford Academy, Shirley Fenette was a rather sheltered individual who had previously had no cause or desire to leave the comforts of the Tokyo Settlement, as it was all she knew of the world (though some might debate the use of the word 'comforts', given how often she was harassed by Milly in the course of her everyday life). Thus, going to the Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel – an elaborate complex built on an artificial island—was something of an adventure, one that excited her to no end—though if she were to be perfectly honest, part of what excited her was the prospect of spending time together with Lelouch.

'_It would be wonderful if we could go for a walk in the moonlight or ride a boat on the lake,' _she thought to herself, picturing how such a scene would go, with the two of them going up to the garden on the hotel roof, where they would talking about various things amongst the blossoms, after which, during an opportune moment, Lelouch would draw close and kiss her sweetly to a backdrop of shooting stars— a scene that quickly cut to a vivid image of the two of them naked in bed together, their sweat-slicked bodies engaged in some rather strenuous night activities, moaning as—_'No no no…bad thoughts Shirley, bad thoughts! You're becoming as bad as the Pres!'_

The orangette blushed, shaking her head violently to clear it of such indecent thoughts, a move that the Ashford heir (walking beside her) could not let pass unchallenged.

"My my, that's an interesting expression you have there, Shirley," Milly Ashford commented, her tone sly and teasing. "You're thinking about how it will be your first time, aren't you?"

"Madame President…that's…how could you say such a thing!" the orangette burst out, scandalized that her friend would mention something like that in public.

"Oh? I don't think asking about your first time outside the settlement is too indecent, do you?" the blonde inquired, raising an eyebrow as she focused her attention on the orangette, her smile growing quite catlike as she contemplated her junior, voice laced with innuendo. "Or perhaps you were thinking about Lulu…and how it would be both of your first times."

The stricken expression on Shirley's face was a clear giveaway as to the direction her thoughts had taken, something that made even Milly chuckle.

"Ah, this is why I enjoy playing with you, Shirley…your reactions are just too much fun," the Ashford magus remarked, though something in her expression slipped for a moment, her eyes growing intent as she turned towards Settlement momentarily.

This of course, did not go unnoticed by the third member of the trio, the bespectacled Nina Einstein, the shy and somewhat xenophobic member of the Student Council. Unlike Shirley, she had been outside the Settlement before…actually having foot in one of the ghettos during a rather traumatic incident in her childhood, an incident that had left long lingering scars.

"Um…Milly, is something wrong?" the perceptive pig-tailed girl queried out of concern, only for the blonde to shake her head, giving the younger girl a lopsided smile.

"Oh no, nothing at all—I'm just a little worried about what might be happening in the Settlement, that's all," the Ashford magus replied, shaking her head. "Especially with everything that's been happening in the last few days…"

She trailed off, not wanting to say too much, but it had been enough, as it didn't take much to make Nina panic – she had even done so en route to the facility, as the train bearing them there had passed through a darkened tunnel.

"You mean with Z-Z-Z-Zero and those terrorists?" the bespectacled girl asked, voice quavering even as Shirley, distracted from her indignation, moved to comfort her, shooting Milly a dirty look. "Or the vampires murders…or…or…"

"There there, Nina, it will be alright…with the Sakuradite distribution meeting coming up soon, security should be just fine, and since we're away from the Settlement, there's no reason for a vampire to be out here," Milly soothed, putting a hand on Nina's shoulder. "Besides, don't all those fantasy books you read say that vampires can't cross water anyway?"

"T-that's true, but…"

"Don't worry…we'll be with you the whole time. We won't leave your side for a second," the blonde continued with a gentle smile, though true to form, a gleam of mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Well, I won't anyway. I don't know about Shirley…she might sneak out in the middle of the night to join her precious Lulu. Or maybe to join both Kallen _and_ Lulu, since she apparently thinks about them all the time!"

"Milly!" Shirley sputtered desperately, trying to defend her innocence, though her heightened breath rate and the way she was fiercely blushing rather betrayed the carnal nature of her thoughts, her imagination conjuring up the image of the three of them…the three of them…. "I-I-I wouldn't do something as indecent as that!"

To which the Ashford magus just laughed, seizing upon a point of speech to tease the all too innocent girl—who Milly had found rather reminded her of a younger version of herself, before she had stepped fully into the moonlit world, distancing herself from those in that of the mundane. As a magus, she was supposed to "decorate her exterior", after all, to put on an interesting front, but to maintain distance from any not involved in the world of the supernatural, to minimize the risk of others discovering what she did.

'_It has been quite the journey, but still…there are days when I miss who I used to be, a more naïve self that Shirley embodies—even with that crush on Lelouch. Though there are other days when I find that naiveté unbearable…'_

Which rather explained why she teased and abused Shirley so mercilessly, really, as it was a point of catharsis for her.

"As indecent as that, eh?" Milly repeated sardonically, waggling her eyebrows at the orangette. "So just how indecent would you be?"

"Milly!" Shirley shrieked with indignation, as the blonde simply laughed. "That's…"

"You can be so adorable sometimes," the President of the Student Council said at last, falling quiet as her thoughts turned to other matters, such as worst case scenarios in case of a terrorist attack on the hotel, especially in the wake of the slaughter of the members of the Kyoto House and the inevitable power vacuum that would arise from such a situation. It was almost as if someone had executed such an operation deliberately, to destabilize Area 11 and create an excuse for military intervention…

'_And after what I've learned of our new governor, I wouldn't be surprised if he—or the mysterious enemy C.C. mentioned, had a hand in it. It's just a good thing that I've brought all that remain of my gems, as well as my staff…'_

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 63_

It was in utter silence that two figures trekked across a broken wasteland, slowly making their way through a desolate expanse of blasted rock and rubble, with no vegetation to be seen for kilometers in sight, with little to be seen at all, in fact, given the presence of a thick fog that hindered progress and diffused sunlight, limiting visibility and forcing the duo to rely on their other senses to navigate the terrain.

'_On the bright side, there are no trees from which a certain Nanaya might ambush us…' _Mana thought to herself, attuning her senses to her surroundings for any unexpected sounds or scents to be found—or any that were expected, but seemed unnaturally so. _'Of course, given that we are following the path that Nanaya and this White Ren left behind, it would be best to be cautious, lest we fall into a trap…'_

This was why Mana had a knife in hand, her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception fully activated as her gaze swept out into the concealing mist to search for anything out of the ordinary by studying the lines of death in her view for abnormalities—or more importantly, for any unexpected motion she might have to react to. Still, there was nothing in the immediate vicinity, no animals, no plant life—only the rugged badlands upon which she walked.

'_I would much prefer it if I could move at a faster clip, but terrain hazards—crevasses, craters, and other such prevent me from doing do. And even if I could…'_

The Satsujinki glanced behind her towards a certain magus lagging behind her, apparently somewhat worn out from their long sojourn of three days, thus far, with no end in sight quite yet. This was quite different from their past training exercises, as there was no chance to return to the Millennium Castle after each day of training—and Mana had a more than sneaking suspicion that this was but an indication of things to come.

"Are you not feeling well, L.L.?" the Ryougi asked, drawing to a halt to allow her companion to come up alongside her. Ordinarily, she had no use for people who would drag her down in combat, but seeing as she did have to work with the Lamperouge magus, she thought it wise to at least ensure he survived.

_Trudge. Trudge. Trudge._

After a few moments, the raven-haired prince managed to catch up to her, though Mana could tell that the magus was breathing hard, with beads of sweat visible on his brow. Apparently, even with the training he had gone through, Lelouch vi Britannia was still unused to long bouts of strenuous activity—or to keeping his Magic Circuits open for prolonged periods of time.

"I wouldn't mind a break," Lelouch admitted with a wince, trying to keep himself from obviously gasping for breath—something Mana found a noble effort, but a futile one, regardless. The magus had learned not to cover up his weaknesses around the assassin, as she would take a claim that he was perfectly fine at face value—and push him near the point of collapse, at which point, she would stop and impatiently allow him to rest, letting him know that the blame rested on him.

'_And I suppose if I can't be honest to the person watching my back, that doesn't speak well of our ability to work together, does it—much less survive what might be coming…'_

"Very well then, L.L., then we can rest for a few minutes," the Satsujinki said after a moment, eyes growing serious. "Sit down and catch your breath. But if you wouldn't mind scouting ahead and refilling our canteens…?"

A brusque, painful nod from the magus, who was determined not to become dead weight to the assassin, lest he disappoint her, but more importantly, disappoint himself—proving that in the end, he would not be able to change his course, that he would be powerless as when he began this long journey.

'_And that I cannot accept—after all, if I fail, then who will remake the world for Nunnally's sake?'_

Weary but thankful for the reprieve, Lelouch sagged to his knees, kneeling down upon the ground as he fought to get control of his breathing, for controlling that was vital to the operation of magecraft. To regulate the breath was to regulate the control of energy into and out of the body, after all…

'_Now, the steps. Recall the source of the flow, dissociating the mind from the body. Feel the channels of light from the Crest connecting to the world…and _shift.'

Using elements of his primary spell (transference of consciousness), coupled with his water and earth affinities, Lelouch had found that he could gain a basic awareness of the terrain, an overall layout that greatly helped with navigation (though he reflected that in a more hectic battle situation, he might be able to make use of it for a much better overview of the field), as well as avoiding traps.

'_Consciousness melting into the world…'_

Alien perspectives, certainly, when one possessed first the ground, physically feeling the existence of the crags and crannies, and then the mist, slithering, slinking about, tracing the vague outlines of the area—sensing especially any significant changes in elevation or any unexpected structures in the distance.

'_No movement in the distance for a radius of several kilometers as I follow the mist forward, with elevation continuing to increase at a gradual pace. We are nearing the top of a plateau, and—there is something strange about ten kilometers out from our position, as there is a blank spot in the mist.'_

Noting the pertinent details, Lelouch's consciousness backtracked quickly, pulled back to his flesh and blood body in the blink of an eye, returning to awareness as Mana Ryougi crouched beside him, handing over her canteen.

"Well?" the assassin asked impassively, raising an eyebrow.

_Blink._

"It seems there is an irregularity in the pattern of the mist about ten kilometers ahead of us," the magus reported, even as took the assassin's canteen and unscrewed the cap. "Given that that is the only major deviation from the norm that has been noted, the location of the irregularity may be our destination."

He muttered something that sounded like "_**Water Manipulation: Condensation**_" under his breath, as a spinning vortex of droplets appeared over the canteen, drawing moisture from the surrounding air and ground to fill the canteen. Given that they were surrounded by a rather thick blanket of mist and fog, the task was quickly completed, so he was able to hand the canteen over to the Satsujinki, who took a small sip, and then repeat the process on his own.

"You certainly hope so, don't you?" Mana asked dryly, seeing how fatigued the magus was. Still, it spoke well of him that he was able to more or less maintain a decent pace over the last few days, if slower than she would have preferred. "You have enough magical energy to synchronize your senses with the mist, I hope?"

A quick, brusque nod as Lelouch proceeded to do just that, effectively allowing him an awareness of everything within a 15 meter radius, giving him something of a substitute for sight.

"Indeed…let's go."

**

* * *

**

**G-1 Mobile Base, Britannian Army, Saitama Ghetto**

Perched upon the command throne of the G-1 Mobile base commanding today's assault on the three ghettos, one might find the Governor General Luciano Bradley, looking over the tactical map showing the deployment of his army units. In a matter of minutes, the encirclement of the three major ghettos by his mechanized infantry would be complete, and soon the extermination would begin.

'_I really have to thank this…Zero for this magnificent opportunity for slaughter,' _the Vampire of Britannia thought to himself, fingering his knives…and deciding against killing any of subordinates quite yet. There would be enough murder to come in the next few hours without slaying any of his aides, since good help was so very difficult to find these days. _'Soon, I will be free to rampage and feast on a bounty of souls—thus regaining my strength for my next clash with…those rebels.'_

The battle in the skies above the Britannian Victory Memorial Center had been burned into his brain like a scar, as the thought of another being with such power—it set his blood on fire, making him long to be able to slay such a foe. But in the mean time, he would simply carry out his murderous agenda, showing the Elevens that the only freedom Zero could possibly deliver them was the freedom of death.

'_Allow them to win ever so briefly, to gain a sense of confidence…and then crush them utterly…the age-old principle of giving people enough rope to hang themselves, giving them hope, the greatest spice to bring out despair.'_

As such, Bradley had contacted Lt. Colonel Fayer at Shikine Island, ordering him to send what forces he had available to stand by to support the reprisal operation, laying in wait until Zero revealed him(or was it her?)self or the Elevens looked to be gaining an advantage, whereupon Fayer's forces were directed to join the battle.

'_If Zero believes that this will be an easy, predictable battle for him to conduct, I would have to say that he is wrong…possibly even dead wrong.'_

With a sanguine smirk that would not have looked out of place on a Hun, the Knight of Ten reached into his pocket, fingering the Black King from a chessboard his predecessor had left in the Viceroy's palace, withdrawing and tossing it into the corner, where—

_Crack!_

—he shattered the chess piece with one of his throwing knives, pinning the broken crown to the wall.

Most Britannians, Bradley reflected, were crippled as killers by a perverse sense of honor, needing to get up close so the enemy knew who their killer was, to kill either by melee or when they could at least see their enemies. This led to irrational decisions and expectations of others, with the largest of these that an enemy would abide by the same rules, as if a battle could ever truly be as elegant as a chess game, to be adjudicated by simple rules.

''_Ah, chess, the silly game of nobles who think that killing should be bound by some rules. Which is why they rant and rave about terrorists or other supposedly uncivilized nations, who manage to inflict disproportionate casualties on our people because they not bound by the same morals…'_

Bradley, of course, was different, as he would be satisfied as long as he could savor the deaths of people – and so proved a true threat to chess playing opponents. This wasn't because he knew the rules and could exploit them, but because his actions took place on another level entirely – the sort that waited for an opponent to get bogged down in trying to analyze his strategy—and then would smack the opponent in the face with the chessboard, before jamming the corner of the chessboard through the opponent's throat, crushing the windpipe and tearing through the carotid artery.

'_Only fools love strategy as an end in and of itself, enjoying chances to show off their prowess,' _he ruminated, smiling fiercely as his eyes swept over the tactical display. _'And thus to them, the chessboard is a microcosm of the world and the battlefield…'_

Bradley, however, preferred to see battle as itself, not as some refined game, but something more visceral, more satisfying and representative of the chaos that was the truth of humanity—the truth that people were no better at heart than savage beasts, and in the end, facing death, showed their true colors. Often, the most pompous, arrogant twits would be reduced to whimpering cowards begging not to be killed, while the lowest of the low simply looked at him defiantly and accepted their ends.

What the method of killing was didn't matter (not completely, anyway, though the Vampire of Britannia did admit to being something of a sadist), since people died when they were killed, after all, no matter in what way, shape or form, from up close or from far away. In _that _sense, the Knight of Ten was a truly a homicide genius, a master of the art of killing – not of combat, though that was the common misconception, since the two did have some overlap. As such he didn't much care for beating someone fairly (though there was a thrill to that), as much as simple destruction.

"Zero may have some talent on the ground, but even if he a competent enough commander to somehow coordinate a three-pronged resistance to deflect our assault, it does not matter," Bradley muttered with a sense of smug satisfaction. "He has nothing that can hope to stop Fayer's forces—even if he does have traitors working for him in the settlement."

Seeing as the Britannians did have aerial superiority, why shouldn't he exploit it for all it was worth, drawing Zero into committing himself to a struggle, and then striking from an unexpected direction?

Of course, he would leave what seemed like an escape route – a weak point in his encirclement of the ghettos as bait for Zero to perform a breakout, if the terrorist was inclined to do so. The trick there was that the Sutherlands there would be rigged with sakuradite-based explosives, so that any attempt to breach the line would end in death, as well as signaling his aerial forces to strike.

'_Yes, some Britannians will surely die, but then, what's a little death for victory?'_

Then, there was the other trump card he had—the White Knightmare Lancelot, which he would deploy in Saitama to hunt down the terrorists and draw enemy fire, as he had reviewed the video logs of the Shinjuku incident and the White Knightmare had figured prominently there, with rumors no doubt having spread about it.

'_And its Honorary Britannian pilot…'_

Using an Honorary Britannian, particularly that one – the one who owed Zero—to kill Zero (if possible) would be quite an interesting thing, rather delightful as such things went, such delicious irony and cruel fate. But even if he did not manage to do so, the pilot was undoubtedly a born killer, and would operate efficiently enough to exterminate Britannia's enemies…

'_In the worst case, if the Honorary Britannian should die by Zero's hand instead, well, that will prove entertaining as well. '_

**

* * *

**

**Chiyoda Ghetto, Area 11**

Only minutes ago the streets of Chiyoda had been fraught with a tense silence, a miasma of fear and terror hanging in the air over what the Britannian Army would do. They had heard reports about Shinjuku, and how men, women, and children had been mercilessly slaughtered en masse—but didn't believe it, didn't want to believe it.

And then…

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack! Scree-BOOM!_

…as if a scene from a nightmare, hundreds of Knightmares, tanks, and VTOLs descended upon the ghetto, bearing with them thousands of masked troopers bent on carrying out their instructions for cold-blooded murder. Oh, one could call it a reprisal, or anything else they wanted to justify themselves under the rules of war, but that didn't change the fact that it was simply the killing of innocents in one way or another.

_Crash! Boom!_

Doors were thrown open, soldiers sweeping in with grim smiles as they rooted out those who tried to hide themselves, sniffing out the scent of fear as their weapons perforated all in their path, striking them down so that buildings, streets, the sewers ran red with blood and terror. Laughter, kill tallys, crude jokes could be heard over the radio as Honorary Brritannians carried out their orders to slaughter any they came across in humor as if doing naught but playing a game, some even keeping track of their kill count in competition with one another. Screams, shrieks, wails of pain tore from the throats of civilians as they ran like lemmings to their deaths, any attempt to flee rendered futile by the overwhelming presence of the military.

_'Help us…please…somebody…help u—'_ some prayed, whispered, pled—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—but their voices were answered only by a snarling hail of lead, as their bodies were ripped and ruined, torn apart into bloody splatters, with the Britannians making sport of the massacre, jeering and laughing over the radio.

The cacophony of machine guns, missiles, rockets screaming, blazing through the air, as Knightmares mowed down all in their—

"P-1, R-5, move out," the voice of Zero ordered over the radio, as a hail of rocket-propelled grenades shot out from an alleyway, utterly decimating the closest squadron of Britannian Knightmares, interjecting chaos into their ranks. "Kage-1, field command is yours."

"Acknowledged, Zero," Sayoko Shinozaki replied, watching from her vantage point in a Sutherland hidden in one of the taller buildings. "Q-1, take the field…."

"Alright…let's show these Britannians what a real badass mother can do! You think I'll let you get away with wholesale murder?" the excitable flame magus exclaimed, concentrating her power where it was most needed. "Who the hell do you think I am?"

_Crack-a-crac—WHOOSH!_

Her Sutherland sped into battle, followed by a brace of others, with her unit's Slash Harkens shooting out, literally aflame as they carved into enemy units, causing them to explode from within, opening a pathway for others to attack.

"What in the…contact! Enemy contact!" came a frantic squawk over the Britannian intercom. "They have our Kni—auughhh!"

In the G-1 Mobile Base outside Chiyoda, Marika Soresi of the Valkyrie Squadron looked at the tactical display, lips pressed tightly together as a clump of the weaker units disappeared from the map.

'_So they come…'_

"The terrorists have made their moves…your orders, ma'am?" one officer or another asked of her.

"That's simple, continue the encirclement no matter the cost, have the VTOLs move in to strike from range," the elite pilot ordered, a dark gleam in her eyes. "I and the rest of Valkyrie Squadron will move out and take field command."

'_Zero…you killed my brother…I will certainly kill you…'_

**

* * *

**

**Irregular Command Post, Shinjuku Ghetto, Area 11**

Given that Shinjuku had been half-destroyed in the battle to retrieve the "poison gas container" stolen by Naoto Kozuki's resistance group, it was no surprise that it had already mostly been abandoned—not to mention was much less defensible than either Saitama or Chiyoda, having no resistance presence. Indeed, its importance was merely as a symbol to the oppressed—a symbol that Britannia was far from invincible, that their forces could be beaten back.

And so it was here that Colonel Madd of the Irregulars had been deployed, along with some of his other forces—with the prototype Einherjar Frames authorized for deployment as a field test of its abilities, considering that Master V.V. thought it likely that Zero—or Zero's allies—might appear in an attempt to beat back the meager units of the Britannian Army that had been dispatched to conduct basic operations.

'_An efficient enough setup, and one that should provide our foe with a nasty surprise,' _the mad cyborg reasoned. '_After all, the large amount of magus-killers and other Irregulars that have disappeared around the Settlement indicate that enemy magi are operating in the area—with our Master having some concerns about a possible team from the Burial Agency. If this is true, then use of the Einherjar Frames may not be completely unwarranted…'_

"Agent Mao, are you prepared for the upcoming operation?" the scarred Colonel asked gruffly into his communicator, his scarred lips drawing up into a smirk.

"But of course, Colonel, humble Mao is always ready to serve," the vampiric homunculus spoke from within the cockpit of the bio-organic Einherjar Frame, a cockpit that had been flooded with a breathable solution for better resistance to impact and to serve as a buffering for extreme acceleration.

"Good – and the prototype?"

"Synchronization ratio is at 82%, Circuit conduct active, Volumen Hydragram standing by, weapons ready – Einherjar Frame 00 standing by."

"Excellent…I will notify you when it is time to deploy."

**

* * *

**

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 63_

After an arduous march across yet more rough terrain, making their way through the foggy wasteland of the rather expansive area 404 (a place that even Lelouch, for all of his information-gathering abilities, had trouble mapping), Lelouch Lamperouge and Mana Ryougi found themselves standing in front of a half-crumbled marble arch, a broken sentinel that had once seen better days. Both of them held their weapons (staff and knives, respectively) at the ready, just in case anything should happen, as this marked a significant change in their surroundings.

"This is…certainly…different," Lelouch remarked, as a small portion of the mist parted to reveal what looked like part of a half-ruined city shrouded with mist, bearing the lingering scars of fierce and bloody conflict—scorch marks, pockmarks and craters in the streets, broken spikes of earth strewn here and there, as well as a seemingly countless number of swords planted in the ground. "It seems to be an old battlefield of sorts—at least from the many lingering traces of magic used here. Do you recognize the architectural style?"

"No," the assassin replied succinctly, her eyes sweeping about their surroundings. "But there is a magic at work here, preserving what remains of this place…or else it should have crumbled to dust long ago."

"Oh?" Lelouch inquired, raising an eyebrow, even as a feeling of age and weariness far beyond anything human seemed to seep into his flesh.

'_What is this place…hidden from the world, accessible only by one of the Second Magician's dimensional portals—and a long trek across barren terrain?'_

"Did you forget that I can see the fated end of all things?" came the soft rebuke, and then both travelers looked up at the sound of a low humming, as more of the mist cleared to reveal a strange and altogether alien architecture, unlike anything either of them had seen before. "Still, this is a working of magic on a larger scale than I am accustomed to…"

Preserving an entire city through countless aeons took a great deal of power, usually indicating a powerful Sorcerer, and Mana wondered which of the True Magicians was responsible for this particular working.

In the distance, sunlight and wind played across blew across fluted crenellations, low tones of music sounding from the surrounding buildings—sad, almost dissonant, the strands of melody incomplete, as if set in eternal mourning for a land lost to the twilight.

But any thought or speculation about the purpose of the hidden ruin was interrupted by an audible 'pop' as a figure appeared from the air to stand before them, one a grizzled man in a black and silver tunic and trousers, with a cloak draped over his shoulders, his eyes filled not with merriment, but a sense of solemnity—an occurrence quite unusual for those who knew of Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg, the master of the Second Magic.

"So, you have come at last to the once proud city of Arche Koeln, the land of origin," the Second Sorcerer spoke solemnly, giving a nod to each of the two who had come here. "It is a place utterly forgotten by time, though pieces of it come up in legend here and there, and now and then, some dream of it."

"You speak of it very familiarly," Lelouch observed, noting the way the old man looked at the town around him almost wistfully.

"Of course—it was once my home, Magus Lamperouge," the Sorcerer replied, apparently deciding on rare formality in his role as Wizard Marshal. "In any case, it is here, in the ruins of this city, that your training exercises will be taken to a new level. Until now, you have worked and practice in idealized situations with plenty of room to maneuver, allowing each of you time to cater to your strengths. Say…working ice magic against a single opponent in a snowy field, or concentrating only on one enemy at a time in melee combat—advantages one will not have in battle. True combat is far more chaotic, far more fluid than that—and one must often assume the worst possible conditions."

'_The Old Man has a point,'_ Mana acknowledged inside her head. _'Since most of our work today will be done inside buildings or otherwise in urban environments, there is only so much training in the wilderness can be of benefit…here there will be limited room to maneuver, more obstacles, less line of sight…and the pace of battle will be far more rapid'_

'_It seems I may not be able to concentrate enough to use my hyperfocus, then?' _Lelouch thought to himself. _'A pity, though I suppose absolute awareness would be more useful—and this a better environment to hone it in.'_

It was then that a small white feline leapt to the ground from the Old Man's shoulder, transforming itself in midair into the form of White Ren, who greeted the duo with a curtsey and an innocent seeming smile, as usual.

"Good day, Lulu and the Witch's Satsujinki…I'm pleased to see you finally arrived," the white-clad succubus intoned with a saccharine sweet voice. "I hope you two have learned to work…closely…or else the next month will be quite a trial."

"The next month?" Lelouch asked, glaring at the demon familiar, but not daring to do anything while the Second Magician was present.

"Indeed," said White Ren, mischievous eyes flicking from Lelouch to Mana almost suggestively, "a month where you will work as partners to develop better tactics as a group against a varying number of strong opponents. Each day will be a survival game of sorts, only both of you are now targets, and if either is disarmed or defeated…you will have lost for the day. Oh, and don't worry about the long trek back to the castle…as you will both have to find shelter in the ruins."

'_A survival game, where if either of us are disarmed or defeated, we both lose? Against a varying number of opponents, at that?' _the exile thought, shaking his head, and fighting the urge to groan. _'Why do I think I will be thought of as the weakest link?'_

Such a thing was anything but a relief to Lelouch, who noted that there would be more places from which White Ren could appear from her ice mirrors, or where another magus might lie in wait, since he knew full well that his skills were not quite up to par.

"Was this Nanaya's idea?" Mana all but demanded, though she made sure to show some restraint in front of the Grey Witch's old associate.

"Huhuhu…who can say?" the succubus inquired, giving both of them a devilish smirk. "In any case…good luck, Satsujinki and…boy. If you survive, I suppose you will be a proper combat magus, won't you?"

With that, the succubus curtseyed again, transforming into a cat and disappearing into the mist, leaving the assassin and the magus alone with the Second Magician, who only regarded the two of them evenly.

"I suppose in deference to the Grey Witch I should wish the two of you good luck," Zelretch intoned, spreading his arms as he looked over the city that had once been his home. "The rest…well, that is all up to you…"

Another 'pop', and Zelretch disappeared from view in the manner in which he had come.

"A month, eh?"

"Indeed…let's hope you're better at coming up with strategies than in combat," Mana quipped, looking over at her erstwhile partner, not particularly looking forward to their time together. "I would hate to think you were only useful for domestic affairs."

"Heh, don't underestimate me," Lelouch replied, though the barb rankled as it had a small element of truth to it. "I'll pull my weight as your partner…Mana."

"We'll see…Lelouch," was all the Satsujinki answered with, as she strode off towards the heart of the city, with the Lamperouge magus following after, a certain odd thought on his mind.

'…_that's the first time…she called me by my name…'_

_

* * *

_**A/N**: After a rather long hiatus, partially due to working on two projects at once, and partially due to real life work, I'm back. As usual, thanks for reading and remember, feedback is very important to an author, so please, if you have any comments, questions, or anything else, leave a review or send a PM. In other news, the first chapter of the Evangelion/Notes crossover I'm working on will finally be out in the next few days, so looks forward to it.


	18. Disillusion

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 63_

Following the departure of the Wizard Marshal from the ruins of Arche Koeln, the mist-shrouded city that bore the scars of a war that had passed out of memory and time, a certain magus and a Satsujinki found themselves exploring the ruins alone – with a tacit truce with their somewhat sadistic trainers apparently in effect for the moment, given that they had not yet been attacked.

Still, the two moved warily, cautiously, yet with a sense of urgency that the uncertainty of the situation seemed to call for, given that their reprieve was only temporary, subject to change at a moment's notice.

'_Or perhaps not,' _the magus Lelouch Lamperouge thought dryly, remembering the many layers of thought and deed that his…master…put into everything, how the petite succubus loved to assail him with mind games. _'It is certainly within the bounds of possibility that my master would attack us while Mana and I are under the assumption that a truce is in effect, expecting us to lower our guard. On the other hand, White Ren would no doubt have assumed we would anticipate this, and that the knowledge of the possibility of an assault would force us to be more cautious, slowing us down and distracting us from our exploration of the battlefield. Then again…'_

Given that Lelouch was in fact an exile who originally hailed from the den of snakes known as the Britannian Imperial court, a place which selected and honed its members' innate talents at treachery and intrigue, he was usually rather good at predicting the actions of others, peeling back their outward deceptions to find the kernel of truth hidden within, given their motivations and past history, but…

'_As my…master…has taken pains _(and not her pains!) _to instruct me, I must look underneath the underneath,'_ the magus thought to himself, knowing that the sadistic succubus who had trained him loved to make him second-guess himself, or worse, to lock demonstrate how flat his initial assessments sometimes fell with near fatal consequences. _'And being a demonic being specializing in dreams and the unconscious, she is rather good at psychological warfare. So…'_

"Do you expect an attack today, L.L.?" Mana Ryougi asked impassively, the quiet voice of the Satsujinki drifting to the magus from her position several meters ahead of him, hidden in the shadow of one of the more intact buildings, interrupting his train of thought.

Already, the duo had spent several hours wandering through the rather extensive remnants of Arche Koeln, with Lelouch pausing now and then in relatively concealed spaces to map what he could of the city's layout with his transference of consciousness abilities, coupled with his earth affinity (a task made more difficult by the residual of long ago spells and such—and one he had not come close to completing, given how vast the city section was), while Mana kept watch for any signs of hostile intent, considering that between the two of them, she had more combat experience—and was probably best suited to handle any…unpleasant surprises.

'_Oddly, I have not sensed the presence of any others in these ruins, but Magus Lamperouge is better attuned to sensing magical energy than I…'_

"All things considered, no," Lelouch responded after a moment of thought, even as he glanced about warily, reaching out with his consciousness for any anomalous concentrations of magical energy and finding none besides the spells woven into the ground itself—strands of magic ancient beyond knowing. "I can't rule out the possibility, but knowing the succubus, I find it more likely that she will hold off on attacking, making us anticipate an unexpected attack—draining our sense of alertness."

"I see," was all Mana said in reply, careful not to look at the magus behind her as she started moving once again through the ancient city's streets. "Come along then—we will need to find somewhere to sleep for the night, as it would be…inadvisable to be caught in the open when darkness falls."

It would be…inadvisable, at best, to be caught out in the open, especially considering that it would be difficult (at best) secure a clearing against an unknown number or type of attacker with only two people.

'_Mana, for all her prowess, can't do much in her sleep, and I…well, I haven't developed my earth-based magecraft nearly enough to lay traps…' _the Lamperouge magus thought to himself with a hint of dissatisfaction, a mild harrumph escaping his lips as he did so. _'My training so far has either involved water-based magecraft, with an emphasis in immediate use combat spells and self-defense, or applications of my mental magecraft…I think White Ren expects me to learn earth-based magecraft on the fly during this "combat exercise", as she called it. Typical of that sadistic cat…'_

A step, two steps, then—

"Wait," Lelouch spoke up, coming to a halt as his magecraft-enhanced senses noted an irregularity in the terrain not to far from their present location. "There's something up ahead…one moment, please."

Taking a breath, the magus concentrated on his affinities, his consciousness probing the earth below, seeking to identify the cause of the anomalous reading.

_Process the flow. Shift. Analyze. Include depth parameters. Execu—_

—then eyes snapped open as Lelouch felt himself falling, the ground rapidly approaching his face, but his motion was arrested by a pair of strong, but surprisingly delicate hands, as he was slowly pulled back to an upright position—whereupon the hands released him to his own devices.

"…thanks," the exile said slowly, carefully not thinking about the fact that he remembered those hands, and how they had felt on—other parts of his body—thanks to White Ren's machinations.

"You need to work on staying upright while shifting, or at least put some more thought into your positioning while carrying a heavy pack," the Satsujinki commented, her tone carefully level, with the assassin's face hidden by her flowing black hair. "In any case, did you discover something of significance, Magus Lamperouge?"

"There is a cavern not too far from here, divided into several chambers strangely regular in shape—likely a basement to one of the larger structures," Lelouch related calmly, blinking once as he recalibrated his senses—something he had discovered that he had to do if he was forcibly recalled by his main body—or if what he was possessing was destroyed (though the latter tended to result in feedback damage to his nerves, which was…unpleasant, to say the least). "Since the approaches to that underground area are limited, it may be suitable for a place to take shelter."

"I see—it appears you do have some use after all," Mana said softly, nodding as if considering the piece of information. "In that case, take point."

"Eh?" the magus asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. "But aren't you better suited for—"

"As you know where the cavern is, it would simply be more efficient, particularly if an attack is not imminent," the assassin's voice brusquely interjected. A heartbeat passed, and then, almost hesitantly, she added something else. "There's no need to worry, I'll guard your back."

'_Why do I feel…disconcerted at the thought of an assassin with eyes that can see the end of all things watching my vulnerable back? Is it because of her eyes, or…is it because it is Mana, and I remember..?'_

Lelouch blinked once, clamping down on such thoughts with the iron discipline he was known for, the mask of emotional calm slamming down upon his features once more. It just wouldn't do for him to lose himself in…compromising behavior, especially at a time like this.

"Very well then…and thank you, that is appreciated," the exile acknowledged gravely, footsteps lightly tapping the ground below as he moved past Mana, eyes seeking out an aboveground counterpart to the underground cavern he had sensed, his hands gripping his collapsible staff in case of an attack, despite his earlier words.

'_While I do not anticipate an attack, the possibility surely exists, for the only thing that I am certain of is that the succubus knows full well how to toy with people, and on a possible battlefield, it would be foolish to completely lower my guard…'_

It was the succubus' fault, after all, that things between him and the Satsujinki had become…well, awkward, for lack of a better word, with their first meeting in several subjective months starting off …quite badly, due to various machinations, misunderstandings, and none-too-subtle implications from White Ren and Nanaya (much as his master intended, Lelouch thought bitterly). The fact that the two of them had been immediately thrown together for an extended training exercise after the fact as partners forced to rely on one another had not helped matters much.

'_Certainly not a recipe for normalizing relations, that's for sure,' _the exile mused, a wan smile flitting across his lips for a moment. _'Or for keeping matters strictly professional…'_

Given that what had happened was not something of their choosing, the two had at first tried to act as if nothing had happened, but found that that was all but impossible, given the lingering vestiges of the vivid dream of carnal delight they had both experienced—a dream which, if White Ren was to be believed, was but a product of what they both desired.

'_A claim that I deny, though I admit that that centuries old demon would no doubt be quite adept at bending the truth for its advantage, especially if, as L.L. says, she specializes in mind games,' _Mana noted clinically, moving silently as a shadow as she followed the Lamperouge scion. _'Weaving a dream that is almost indistinguishable from reality, anticipating my reactions afterward, saying exactly the right things to reinforce any innate suspicions from that dream and thus disrupt possible teamwork—a formidable opponent indeed.'_

The assassin spared a glance at her training partner, her lips pressing into a thin line at how his body language still showed signs of tension and unease, more so now than when she had walked in front of him—how careful he was to maintain a certain distance.

'_When I first saw him in Shinjuku, I found it hard to believe that _he _was the one upon which the Witch's fortunes rested. A foolish Britannian fop of a boy, with no inkling that the moonlit world even existed—a boy who couldn't even defend himself—how could he be the one that C.C. had sought?' _

So Mana wondered, her lips twitching ever so slightly as continued to follow, taking care not to disturb any of the scattered debris or broken bits of stone strewn about the area, or at least not any more than Lelouch had already done, already noting several things that she could correct about how he moved, and several more that could stand some practice.

'_He's certainly improved from his state before he fought against the false Zero, but…'_

Suffice it to say that the Satsujinki still had some reservations about Lelouch's role, knowing all too well how dangerous their foes really were – that Britannia's conventional military might was but the obvious source of the enemy's strength (and far from the largest), with the Sorcerer they opposed commanding strange and arcane powers and allies whose abilities were not to be underestimated.

If the Lamperouge magus was going to play the role of Zero, becoming a symbol to draw down the attention and wrath of Britannia, he would need all the help he could get—and Mana supposed that she would have to help him.

'_Not that it's going to be easy…'_ she thought to herself, suppressing a grimace at the obviousness of the statement. One might as well say that C.C. was enigmatic, that Kallen was not the best cook in the world, Shirley was mildly easy to embarrass, or that Mana was simply ok at destroying things when she had to. _'But then, what in my life has ever been easy?'_

If there was anything Mana knew well, it was nightmares and difficulties—especially in the wake of the Britannian invasion. Being a Chokushi no Magan adept was a rather strange state of existence, walking the borderlands between life and death, able to see reality as but another transient dream, that nothing was permanent, nothing would last.

Still, she accepted everything, for the moment, as she and Lelouch made their way through the heart of the ancient city, as ethereal fragments of melodies wafted around them, twining about the first living ones to set foot within its auspices in long years, a monument to the very fact that even the greatest of empires would one day crumble. Not that Mana needed the reminder…

For his part, Lelouch found himself reminded of how certain members of the royal family had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with ancient ruins, believing them to be the secret to long lost powers and abilities. Until very recently, he had thought such things useless, a refusal to dwell in the present and accept reality, but he had discovered, mysterious powers such as magic were only all too re—

_Whirr-whirr-whirr!_

Three madder orbs of light hurtled out of the mists towards Lelouch, who cursed silently, eyes widening as—

_Snap-hiss! Clang! Clang! _

—his staff sprang to its full extension in an instant, the cold, metallic length of his rod spun about as an impromptu shield to deflect the glowing projectiles, scattering them back into the mist, as—

_Whump!_

—warned by his instincts, Lelouch leapt back, narrowly avoiding several jagged spires of ice that erupted where he had been standing only a moment before.

'_Damn…that succubus actually chose to attack…she's hiding her position, so I'll need a full spread attack. No, not enough water in that atmosphere for an ice spell, so…ah…Five gates revolving - Locks Open!'_

"**Gandr!" **

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Light and sound exploded, as a storm of magical energy was released, with numerous thorn-like bullets of darkness spraying through the air, blowing away the mist with its force as—

_Fzzt!_

—the bullets of darkness were opposed in mid-air by a barrier of magical energy in the form of a mirror, detonating uselessly against its surface, as a certain red-eyed demon familiar dressed in a winter coat and dress of white walked daintily into view, a smirk upon her face, a spectral menacing ball of magical energy in each hand.

'_Wait…if Mana hasn't come to assist me, then that means… '_

_Clang! Clang!_

As Lelouch suspected, Mana was rather preoccupied at the moment, having just deflected twin blades aimed for her companion's back, one wielded by the rather arrogant Shiki Nanaya, the one who could see the lines of life.

"You…" the Ryougi muttered, ducking under a silver arc from one of Nanaya's knives, her own blades striking with the speed of a true demon at her "teacher's" lines of death, only to be blocked, with the Nanaya's legs sweeping out at her stomach—a blow which the younger assassin barely evaded, pulling back to grab the limb—only for the man to kick off the wall behind her to move out of range, backflipping to land on a pile of rubble several meters away.

'_This terrain suits him_

"Who else, _Satsujinki?" _the Nanaya hissed, his body and blades a study of fluid motion, as, faster than a striking snake, he attacked once more—but going for the neck of the Lamperouge magus this time.

'_This is why I find escort missions…troublesome,'_ Mana thought to herself, springing from the ground to intercept the Nanaya in mid-air, as—

"_**Gandr!"**_

A second salvo of bullets of darkness was sprayed into the air in all directions, emitted from the ends of Lelouch's fast-spinning staff, forcing the Shikage to twist in the air to avoid the attacks, just enough for—

_Slam!_

—the Satsujinki to close the gap, knives slashing for the Shikage's eyes, the source of his power—but only managing to slice off a lock of his hair, as the Nanaya moved faster than thought humanly possible to evade the devastating blow.

Their blades clashed together in the mist, each one completely stopping the attacks of the other without pause, the sounds of ringing metal echoing in the air as Mana fought with full speed and ferocity, sweeping the Nanaya's legs from under him as the man lost his footing on a pile of rubble, preparing to—

_Whump!_

—but it mattered not, as the knife was twisted out of Mana's attacking hand by a colorless distortion in the air, forcing the girl to retreat.

'_Telekinesis…Asagami's? I am not familiar with this power…unlike magecraft…'_

"_**Bend."**_

Another distortion, targeted on her torso, as Mana stumbled-rolled to prevent being immediately tracked, tossing a throwing knife in the direction from which she sensed a flare of killing intent.

'_Ok, this is not good…I'm separated from L.L., and I'm under attack by multiple opponents…' _Mana thought, analyzing her situation and not liking the odds. _'What next, a Fujou, with their cursing abilities?'_

Lelouch was in a similar spot of trouble, as two swirling vortices of cutting shards of ice hissed towards him, throwing himself flat to avoid one, rolling out of the way of the other, just barely managing to recover to his feet as—

_Blam!_

—a powerful uppercut caught him by surprise, knocking the wind from him, with his staff wrenched from his hands, as the petite succubus slipped past his defenses, launching him into the air with a blow of surprising strength, as the magus' eyes widened with the realization that the next few minutes were going to hurt. A lot.

"You…IDIOT! You super IDIOT! Incredible IDIOT! Unbelievable IDIOT!" White Ren raged at her student, each of her remarks punctuated with a flurry of blows to his body as she attacked him with full force, almost seeming to juggle his body in the air with a combination of strikes that left Lelouch unable to respond, jabbing, punching, kicking, elbowing—piledriving him into the ground in a no holds barred beatdown that showed he still had a long way to go. "Forgetting one of the first things I taught you….I won't forgive you…_**IDIOT!**_"

_Blam! Pow! Crunch! Crack!_

As Lelouch plummeted towards the ground, a pillar of ice shot up towards him, smashing into him from below—but shifting at the last minute just to provide something of a ramp down which he could roll as the succubus continued her relentless assault.

"How…" _Whack!_ "…many…" _Whack!_ "…times…" _Whack!_ "…did…" _Whack! _"…I…" _Whack! _"…tell you…" _Whack! "_…to be aware…_" Whack! "_…of that which…" _Whack!_ "…was underneath…" _Whack! _ "…the underneath…" _Whack!_ you weak…" _Whack!_ "…little…" Whack! "…magus…!" _WHACK!_

_CRASH!_

After a final, particularly deadly blow, Lelouch's body was flung like a rag doll into the side of one of the buildings with a sickening thud, though surprisingly, nothing broke, as the wall of the building seemed to soften on impact.

'_Heh…so he employed a bit of earth-based magic to save his life, eh? Interesting…'_

"Ungh—"

From where he lay in a crumpled heap, Lelouch forced his eyes open, fully intending to continue fighting, only to freeze as he found himself looking into eyes of swirling red, an overwhelming level of killer intent blanketed him, a level beyond anything his master had demonstrated before.

"…you do know that if you use that spell in battle, it is like announcing that you are a member of the Britannian Royal Family, correct?" the white-clad demon familiar hissed, a seething mass of crackling energy in one hand. "If you wish to be a royal so badly, then

"…master, I…" Lelouch croaked out, and then the power of the red eyes claimed him, trapping his mind within a whisper of _**"Moon Phase: Infinite Broken Mirror,"**_ his body slumping to the ground unconscious, unable to further resist.

Strangely though, the succubus did not take that opportunity to finish him, instead calling off the attack.

"Enough!" White Ren intoned, her voice echoing into the distance as battle ceased, the Nanaya making a tactical withdrawal, covered by enough distortions in space to make even Mana cautious of following, as the succubus herself vanished into the distance, leaving behind a badly winded Satsujinki and an unconscious Lelouch Lamperouge.

'_I see—the strategy was to overwhelm me, while attacking my charge,' _Mana thought grudgingly, resigning herself to the task of checking her companion for injuries—and carrying him, if necessary. _'Well played…'_

* * *

**Saitama Ghetto, Area 11**

Like flies over a bloody corpse left out in the sun, members of the Britannian Army swarmed en masse over the ghetto of Saitama, competing to see who could kill the greatest number of foes with grenades, slash-harkens and hails of lead. Squad by squad they advanced, whether on foot, in armored vehicles, or in Knightmares, doing their duty for the country they served, fighting to protect Britannia's noble ideals by slaughtering innocents in the name of justice.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

A short burst from a Knightmare's assault cannon, and a number of herded Elevens were blown to pieces, reduced to little more than bloody smears on the broken ground as the Britannians laughed, wondering how the filthy terrorists liked having their people killed—saying that they should have known better than to challenge the might of Britannia.

So they said out loud, at least, though in their secret hearts many of them were terrified of who—or what—they might encounter on the battlefield, wondering if this supposedly simple operation was going to lead to their deaths, given the rather dark rumors floating around about the enigmatic Zero, rumors that grew and grew with each retelling, like the mangling of meanings in a twisted (and rather deadly) game of telephone.

True, some might say that rumors were merely rumors, words without power, but these rumors struck at the heart of what the soldiers fears, preying upon their weaknesses, their guilt, their terror of the unknown—for what was Zero but the embodiment of the darkness itself? For they had heard of the vampiric powers of Zero, had seen how many of their own had suffered brutal deaths while on patrol in a number of gruesome ways: limbs hacked from torsos, bodies blown apart from within, bodies reduced to bloody pulp, bodies disemboweled, bodies decapitated, bodies horribly burned to death—the only commonality between them being expressions of absolute terror on their faces.

'_What could do this to a trained soldier…no, squads of trained soldiers?' _ they wondered, their belief in their own invincibility shaken by how Zero had all but flaunted the murders of their comrades, as if mocking them, daring them to do something about it.

The number of soldiers on patrol increased—and the murders happened again. Heavily armed tactical teams were sent out—and the murders happened again. Knightmares were sent out—and the murders happened again, as each night, more Britannian soldiers fell to might of Zero in increasingly savage ways.

Even for those in the barracks, the sense of safety was eroded, as each night, those who slept were plagued with terrible nightmares of an insatiable demon of vengeance who would appear by the side of their beds, a fell creature that whispered of their deaths, of the futility of resistance, of the many ways in which a human could be harmed and still live—before proceeding to demonstrate in gory, excruciating detail over and over again, not allowing them to escape until it was satisfied, ripping the very souls from their bodies—only freeing them when they awoke. The worst part: it seemed nothing like a dream at all, feeling all too real, the pain and terror (and chilling laughter) lingering in their minds – on top of which, some never awoke at all, falling in mysterious comas, their bodies drained of vitality.

All of this fostered a sense of inevitable, inescapable doom as the days went on, the hours counting down toward the hour of reckoning when they would be deployed to exact retribution for what Zero had done. But it seemed that all of that had come to naught, as the reprisal operation had begun without any complications in Saitama, with the high-priority civilian targets neutralized, and seemingly no resistance at—

_Splatter!_

To the shock of his comrades, the head of a Britannian soldier simply exploded without visible cause, blood and brains and cranial fluid scattered about like some kind of strange modern art piece.

"Incom—!"

The warning was cut off mid-shout as deadly arrows of light tore through a detachment of armored cars, momentary screams of pain issuing forth from inside—only to be silenced by a series of soulshattering _BOOMs, _as gouts of fire belched from within, the ubiquitous sakuradite energy fillers that powered these vehicles detonating under the extreme stress they were subjected to.

_Crump!_

A soldier froze, swallowing as he noted that a jagged piece of shrapnel was now embedded in his chest—a moment before another piece of debris sheared off his legs.

_Whirr!_

Another who had been advancing stumbled at a sudden line of pain, followed by the distinctive _hiss_ of a piece of flying debris narrowly missing him. He looked down to see the extent of the damage—only to find that the entire right side of his body was missing.

_Whoosh!_

Several squads of soldiers found themselves thrown up into the air by a concussive blast of force erupting from below, with all that remained to fall upon the ground a group of severed heads with glazed over eyes, looking like nothing so much as burnt, deflated soccer balls.

Those on the very fringes of the incident were not so fortunate to die immediately, and so were left on the ground shrieking in agony, writhing as tongues of fire licked at their charred-black extremities, the incredible resilience of the human body keeping them alive—prolonging their suffering.

"Damnit…what the hell is going on?" a squad captain demanded, shouting into his radio. "Knightmares. We need Knig— "

_Whoosh-BOOM!_

As if in answer, a nearby Sutherland exploded in a blaze of madder flames, its Sakuradite energy filler violently destabilizing as the frame blasted apart in a sphere of flame and shrapnel that killed those in its immediate vicinity.

_BOOM! Boom! Boom._

Another explosion. Then another, then another, as Knightmare frames erupted into impromptu funeral pyres one by one, the ear-piercing shrieking of tearing metal punctuated with detonations at regular intervals as if this scene of slaughter was but a symphony conducted to the whim of some twisted conductor—or alternatively, reminding the soldiers of the footsteps of a relentless, implacable devil, as hearts sank, and an image of nightmares sprung unbidden into their heads.

And then, suddenly, the cacophony ceased all at once, leaving behind an oppressive silence, a thick haze of smoke wafting across the city in the wake of the incredible minutes of violence that had just passed, each and every one of the Britannian soldiers tense, weapons ready, waiting for the enemy to reveal itself. In the distance, their minds registered the continued sounds of gunfire as some of their number attacked a rebel cell, but they could not afford to be distracted from their true enemy…

_Tap! _

A heavy footstep from the middle of the smoke-covered city center, to which some of the more panicked men responded with a short burst from their rifles as—

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Several silver flashes raced through the air, backtracking unerringly along the trajectory of the bullets with snake-like hisses as—

_Squelch!_

—they pierced the hearts of those who had been a little too quick on the trigger, and—

_Caw! Caw! Caw! _

—with the harsh cawing of crows, a vortex of black wings descended from the sky around the unlucky ones who had struck first, beaks piercing, ripping out eyes, tearing flesh, devouring blood—before scattering, leaving only rags of cloth and dry bones where those soldiers had once stood.

"Auugh!"

Screams of primal terror came as those caught in the enchantment were eaten alive, no mercy given, as they had shown none, no quarter given, as none had been offered. And then silence once again.

_Tap! _

Another heavy footstep in the distance, but this time, the Britannian troopers held fire, unwilling to risk provoking a response without being assured of a clean shot, a feeling of dread beginning to overtake them, as recollections and responses that they had tried to suppress came welling up to the forefront of their minds—the vengeance they had feared, the irrational belief that—

_Laughter, mocking laughter, echoing…echoing…echoing…_

A spike of raw terror surged forth as the wind blew, dissipating the haze to reveal the presence of a creature of nightmares: a masked and caped figure clad in darkness, wearing an elegantly tailored ensemble of royal purple coat and trousers with gold edging as if to mock the high and mighty of Britannia. A figure whose name was…

"Zero…its Zero!" came a panicked cry, with the Britannians whirling on the incarnation of their nightmares, their rifles, assault cannons, rocket launchers snarling out molten metal death as they attacked with everything they had, seeking to banish the demon with superior firepower, their weapons throwing up a shroud of dust as heavy projectiles slammed into the ground where "Zero" had stood.

_Clatter! Clatter! Crash!_

Clip after clip of ammunition was unloaded, raining hellfire upon the place where Zero was last seen, but—

_Boom!_

—a volley of silver streaks rained down from above with deadly accuracy, cutting short lives and tearing apart, as a shadow jumped from soldier to soldier, a blade plunged into flesh, ripped from flesh, or torn across flesh as its attackers were silenced, with the figure tracing four glowing runes in the air: Algiz, Nauthiz, Ansuz, and Inguz.

"_**Ath nGabla**_," the Grey Witch intoned, invoking the rune of death matches, as the runes flared and went out, engraving their effect upon the souls of those present: forbidding retreat to the one who invoked it, preventing those who saw it from withdrawing—until only one was left alive, that was.

_Thump!_

Hitting the ground, "Zero" landed on the head of a command Sutherland, materializing three Black Keys in her hand and slamming them down into the energy filler with superhuman strength, before vaulting away as other Knightmares opened fire on her position, moving with all the aid reinforcement and rune magic could provide.

A special squad of snipers managed to track Zero on their scopes, preparing to fire when—_the masked rebel turned and looked directly at them, _a moment before their bodies grew nerveless, suddenly short on breath, pain blooming in their chests—as they collapsed without firing a single shot, air having projected into their hearts to stop their circulation.

_Crack!_

A Black Key was slammed through the eye of a soldier, passing through his skull and out the back of his head, with Zero viciously kicking the body away as it burst into flames.

"_Demon", _some said. _"Devil"_, others said. _"Not human",_ was the overall consensus. But it wasn't as if C.C. cared what people thought of her, having been called many names in the past, some of which included _'Puppet Master'_, _'Visitation of Woe'_, _'Mistress of Destruction'_, and _'Harbinger of Chaos'_, usually referring to the fates she visited upon her all-too-mortal enemies.

'_There will be no holding back, no false mercy,' _the Sorceress resolved, her form blurring as she accelerated, bringing death one at a time to those she had marked earlier—those who were doomed to be unable to run, unable to hide from her might. _'After all, if Britannia wishes to call weakness a sin, then should their sins not be punished as well?'_

So the Grey Witch thought as she moved from spot to spot on the battlefield, taking lives as simply as most would draw breath, her acts not weighing upon her conscience at all. Life was but a fleeting thing anyway, as she had learned over vast millennia, and in the end, all were doomed to die (save a few such as she who had rather longer lifespans due to magecraft). So, if people must die, why not have them die in a way that fulfilled her objectives? At least in that way, their deaths would acquire some meaning, as opposed to none at all.

'_Call me a devil will you?' _she thought to herself, by now rather familiar with the rumors concerning Zero. '_In that case, I'll just have to use my hellish powers to destroy you…'_

And as one who wielded the power known as Denial of Nothingness, she knew all too well the nothingness to which all would return—and how to return most things to that state. So here, in this killing ground, C.C. was not doing something as futile as simply ending lives—oh, no. That was the base level on which the ignorant played—instead, she aimed to destroy an army, having already crippled their power ahead of time by crushing their morale, by playing along with the rumors of Zero as a murderer, by convincing at least part of the army that to face Zero was a death sentence—a lesson she would hammer in with Saitama.

Yes, people would die, and not everyone would be saved—but from the beginning, saving everyone was impossible—even the most powerful of beings could only save whoever she sided with.

_Crunch! Squelch! Rip!_

And so, in the midst of this carnage, the immortal Witch C.C. was perfectly calm, her thoughts subsumed in the collective flow of the moment, a phenomenon some experienced when writing or crafting—and that she experienced in battle. For there was a certain simplicity in a life or death struggle that the Sorceress enjoyed, where one must either kill or be killed, with no worry of politics, subtle menaces, hidden dangers, or plans with layer upon layer of thought and deed.

_Whoosh!_

Trails of smoke and flame erupted as an assault column of Knightmares opened fire, their pilots cheering as chaos mines were lobbed into the air, saturating the area with explosions that they were sure nothing could survive—only to gibber in terror as their intended target emerged unscathed, two slits in the featureless mask of Zero opening to reveal ominously glowing eyes of gold.

'_Oh…cra—'_

_KABOOM!_

"…crimson rain of absolute terror! _**Water of the Styx**_!"

With the final words of an ancient spell, a circle of runes that C.C. had meticulously carved with her back and forth motions blazed to life, activating a rather more deadly spell than those she had used before, one that could be seen as the final evolution of water based magecraft as a weapon of war: using the blood of an opponent as weapon in and of itself, since humans were mostly water anyway. Granted, this didn't quite work so well against magi, but then, the ones she was fighting weren't magi, were they?

_Fssssssh!_

Agonized screams, the sound of soldiers writhing in pain as the spell took effect, drawn every ounce of moisture from their bodies, crimson fluid drawn forth from every pore, every opening, leaving its victims as lifeless, desiccated husks that were quickly set aflame to prevent any chance of revival. Unlike C.C.'s usual spells, those which boosted mobility, defense, or offensive power, this spell had no other purpose but to bring death, while empowering the caster with the life energy of those it killed.

'_It's not quite a Noble Phantasm, but it should do well enough for my purposes…though I didn't think I would be using this spell again…' _the Grey Witch thought to herself, a flicker of _something_ crossing her features before vanishing, the crimson mist drawn from the field collecting in one of the Grey Witch's outstretched palms, shaping itself into a large two-pronged spiral spear that she held in her hands. _'Though I expect I will need it, especially as this force of Honorary Britannians _(which, as she remembered, were joked about by the higher-ups as mere "cannon fodder") _and other troops cannot be all that is being sent against me.'_

Given that the perimeter of Knightmares was being maintained, this was all but certain.

'_But what though? Perhaps it is the Irregulars, or perhaps the Vampire of Britannia has some other trump card to play_. _No matter—in any case, I'll just have to lure them out of hiding….'_

…and kill them all.

**

* * *

**

**Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel, Area 11**

At the moment, Milly Ashford found herself was somewhat displeased that her plan to go to the Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel to escape the unrest brewing in the Settlement had…not quite worked out as she had wished. Granted, she had been able to persuade her friends on the Student Council to join her for the "vacation", and all had seemed to be going well—but then, disaster had struck…in the form of she, along with all the other Britannians at the convention center hotel, being taken hostage by the Japanese Liberation Front, herded into a small room where they were kept under guard by a good number of men with assault rifles.

Apparently, from what the Ashford magus had surmised based on snatches of conversation she had overheard, this hoteljacking had been planned for a while, and this incident was merely a result of the JLF moving up their schedule due to Bradley's intent to attack the ghettos, with the terrorists believing that Britannia might call off the attack if its civilians were threatened as well.

'_Those Idiots…do they actually think that an empire which specifically states that weakness is a sin, and equality a lie, will actually give in to your demands?' _Milly thought disbelievingly, silently ranting about the profound stupidity of humanity. '_More than that, do you really think the Vampire of Britannia is going to respond with anything but extreme violence?'_

The honey-blonde looked over her captors, analyzing their body language, and how all of them, though moving with the brisk efficiency one might expect of former members of a military force, also seemed to have a certain sense of fatalism as well, wearing the half-haunted look of men who knew they were going to die, and thus had nothing to lose—the most dangerous sort of individual, as they were capable of anything at all, unfettered by the geass called the desire to live.

'_This isn't good at all…and unfortunately, I am not in a position to fight back at the moment…'_

Not for the first time, Milly found herself silently cursing a magus' need for secrecy, especially one in her position, as she, too, was effectively concealing her nature from Britannia, who would be more than happy to eliminate her as it had the other magi in her family. As she had been around other people when surprised by the terrorists, she had had no other choice than to let herself be apprehended along with Nina and Shirley, unable to fight back effectively without revealing what she was to more people than she would like—people that would dealt with afterwards.

'_Think, Milly, think…how can we get out of this?'_

The Ashford heir's mind raced through a number of different scenarios, but none of them seemed to come to a happy ending. True, the JLF had said that if the hostages stayed quiet and obeyed orders that no harm would come, but that was surely a lie. The hostages were all doomed to begin with—it was only a matter of time before either the terrorists killed them, or the Britannian military. She knew how the world worked, after all, and didn't have Shirley's brand of naiveté to shield her from its harsh realities.

'_What can I do? Attack with my wind spells? But there are too many of them to ensure that I'd kill them all before they could retaliate—and there's the question of what to do about the other hostages. Should I use my mystic eyes to hypnotize one of the terrorists into doing my bidding? No, it would be bad if the others caught on, and it's hard to hide golden eyes. Come on…there's not much time, because m__ost likely, the Governor General will just order an airstrike on the hotel, and proceed to blame the explosion on the terrorists, much as he did with the Memorial Center…'_

Unsurprisingly, the storage room where the Britannian tourists were being held captive was ripe with the stench of fear and tension, as the JLF soldiers prowled about threateningly, daring anyone to react, daring anyone to say something out of place, something that they could upon as an excuse to –

"An…E-E-Eleven…" came a whimper from beside her, with Milly sighing as she saw that Nina's attempt to block everything out had finally failed, and that the bespectacled green-haired girl was now trying to shrink away from a JLF officer who had stepped just a little too close to her.

An officer who unfortunately, seemed rather short-tempered.

"What did you just say?" the man snarled, stamping his foot as he whirling upon Nina, his eyes glancing over the nubile form of the young girl—as well as those of Shirley and Milly next to her. "We're not Elevens! We're Japanese, damnit!"

Feeling the pressure of the stare, Nina cowered into Shirley's arms, as the orangette replied in kind, apparently having had enough.

"We know that!" Shirley snapped, becoming rather upset herself. It was rather unlike her, but then, Milly supposed that the palpable tension was having an effect on everyone.

"Then correct her!" the uncouth and unshaven JLF member insisted, leering at them. "We're not called Elevens!"

The normally polite orangette once again proved quite the spitfire, as she rashly answered, "Fine, we'll correct her!"

Of course, the former Japanese soldier was hardly going to stand for verbal abuse of that nature, especially when it was the JLF that held the cards here.

"How dare you speak like that to me?" the man growled under his breath, making no attempt to hide his hostility—or his lustful gaze, as he waved his rifle at the three girls. "You three, come with me to the next room and I'll teach you a real lesson!"

'_Hmm…' _Milly thought, hearing the remarks of the lust-clouded man, and deciding not to resist—too much, that was. Not resisting at all would seem somewhat suspicious. _'This is a chance…'_

Nina's frantic wails were loud in the small room, as three soldiers—one for each of the girls, grabbed a hold of them, dragging them bodily to a room down the hall, where they were shoved roughly down to the ground, with the brutes beginning to tug down their trousers, the three apparently intending to rape the schoolgirls into submission.

'_But you put down your weapons…and that was your mistake…_' Milly observed, noting that the rifles were no longer in their hands, the blood in her body running backwards, her mana welling up at her call, demanding that the terrorists be made to pay. She forced down the bile in her throat as the one of the sweaty, smelly, terrorists moved towards her, tugging brutishly at her clothes, apparently seeing her as the most desirable of the group, with one of them binding her arms, and the other moving closer and closer to her face, as—

'_Guts.'_

—the honey-blonde burst into motion, eyes blazing golden in the light as she reinforced her body with magical energy, jerking free of the man grabbing her, her hands reaching for the swollen member that a terrorist had stuck in front of her face—

_Riiip! _

—and ripping it out of the man with a sense of primal vindication, grimacing as she applied magical energy to the member, blood splattering over her as she hardened the…severed penis in her hand to the strength of steel and—

_Squelch!_

—plunged it through the neck of the one who had grabbed her, following up with a violent kick that sent the two injured terrorist sprawling into their uninjured fellow before leaping back, her molten gaze encompassing all of the terrorists in the room.

"_**Aero**__."_

With a word of command, a powerful vortex of cutting wind was conjured, sent racing at her captors, still stunned by the sudden reversal. It was but for a moment, but a moment was all that was necessary, as the spell struck, numerous blades of razor winds rending the bodies of her foes into mincemeat, blood and viscera flecked all across the once pristine room.

Her immediate concerns dealt with, the magus turned back to see if her friends were ok, only to find them frozen in the face of the impossibility that had just occurred, their eyes widening as they took in the blood-soaked form of the Ashford heir, wondering what the hell was she.

'_Right…they're not of the moonlit world,'_ the Ashford magus chided herself, a touch of regret in her words. _'Well, in that case…I don't want to do this, but I don't have a choice, do I? At least this way, we might all get out of this alive…'_

"M-M-Milly," Nina whimpered, stricken with terror, flinching back at the emotions in her golden eyes. "What …what…what just…"

But she fell silent, as did Shirley, drawn in by the power of Milly's Mystic Eyes of Enchantment, powerful eyes capable of high-level hypnosis, exceeded in power only by the Unified Language, as the blonde retrieved her staff and gems from under her dress.

"I, Milly Ashford, command you: pick up the rifles the terrorists dropped, and follow me to safety," the Ashford magus commanded, knowing that her friends would be all but useless if she did not hypnotize them. "Shoot any terrorist who approaches."

"Of course, Madam Prez," both of her subordinates voiced in unison, blank expressions on their faces as they rose to their feet and took up the rifles of the terrorists, ignoring the blood all over the room as the moved to flank the magus who commanded them.

Gripping her telescoping metal quarterstaff firmly in one hand, a handful of jewels in the other, in case she needed a more powerful spell than she could call up through her Crest, the Magus of Ashford stepped out into the hallway, scanning for any signs of danger.

'…_the only obvious way out, considering there are mundanes present, is the utilities corridor running from the sub-levels of the hotel to the mainland, accessible by elevator or stairs. We'll take the stairs several floors down, and then the elevator for the rest…hopefully, we don't run into much resistance.' _

**

* * *

**

**Undisclosed Location**

After a long and desperate struggle against the forces of the Holy Britannian Empire, Lelouch vi Britannia at last stood triumphant over his many foes, the body of the Emperor folded over the sword that he as Zero had plunged into his father's heart, with the corpses of his siblings and the royal guard strewn about the throne room of the Pendragon Imperial Palace.

Through trouble and travails, the exiled prince had built a coalition of forces of those who resented Britannian rule, using them as tools to crush his enemies under his heel, slaying his father, utterly destroying the Sorcerer who had killed his mother by reducing him to his constituent atoms, even using a potent spell to rip the blood from his brother Schneizel's body, the foolish man who had dared to challenge him.

At last, he had gained vengeance for all the injustices and indignities that had been heaped upon him, with those who had opposed him now dead, the throne of Britannia laying open, beckoning him to sit upon it, to claim it as was his right, as no one was left in this gentle world who could do anything to oppose him.

But he stood alone, intoxicated with victory, having withstood great pains to create the world he wanted, even if in the end, everything he desired had slipped from his hands, everyone he cared for, dead. The world was his, true, but what of the one for whom he had wanted to change it, what of the one who had given his life meaning?

She was dead at the hands of his enemies, meaning that now, Lelouch truly _was_ Zero, the very soul of the void.

"Lelouch vi Britannia commands you," he spoke hollowly, striding to the throne upon which he sat himself and removed his mask. "_Obey me, World!"_

So the exile ordered, looking out at the desolate land of steel he now ruled, resolving that if there was nothing left of his true self, he would simply have to become his mask and carry on however he could.

"For it seems that in the end, Britannia was weak," the magus whispered with a thin smirk. "For indeed, there is only one truth, that people are not equal! Ha…haha…hahahahahahahaha….."

And so he laughed, as he seized the reins of power, ready to—

'_No. This isn't right. This can't be right,' _Lelouch realized, fixing upon a foreign thought, noting that the Satsujinki was not there—and that if, after taking up the path of blood, he had decided to become an Emperor like his father, a cruel man, he would not be alive—for she would have killed him. This he knew for a certainty. _'And she would be right to do so. Because this…this isn't the world I wanted to make!'_

With supreme force of will, Lelouch considered his options, before gritting his teeth, taking the ever-present pistol that he carried as Zero and bringing it to his temple, cocking the firing hammer.

"For the only ones who should kill," he whispered in an ironic echo of long ago. "Are those prepared to be killed."

_Crack!_

A single gunshot rang out, and as the world around him faded in to darkness, the magus was rewarded by the sound of splintering glass, as everything shattered…and everything reformed.

**

* * *

**

**Saitama Ghetto, Area 11**

Within the cockpit of the Z-01 Lancelot, as shouts of agony and terror came over the radio, Private Suzaku Kururugi waited impatiently for orders to deploy in Saitama, where he sensed a great disturbance in the world.

'_This…all of this is because of Zero,' _the Honorary Britannian thought to himself, his teeth bared in a silent snarl as he thought of the one responsible for so much suffering. "_…these murders…these reprisals…this hatred. It's all because of Zero, whose actions have condemned so many innocents to death!'_

The devicer had nothing but sheer loathing for the one who had condemned Area 11 to martial law and needless suffering, who pointlessly resisted the lawful government and caused meaningless deaths instead of simply trying to promote from within, to reform the system. True, Zero had saved him once, but Suzaku felt he owed the masked rebel nothing, since the murderer had merely used the opportunity to gain a name for himself.

'_And from there, after admitting to killing Prince Clovis, he wanted me to join him,' _Suzaku thought with disgust, rage building in his heart of hearts as he silently cursed not trying to bring Zero to justice, blaming himself for not seeing what Zero was capable of after the grisly murders he had already admitted to. _'He wanted me to join him, even though it meant that the Britannians would probably launch reprisals upon the Japanese. I should have seen this coming…should have seen how he was only arrogant murderer who cared only about his ends, without any concern for who his means might harm.'_

Because of Zero and thoughtless actions, everyone in Saitama, Shinjuku, and Chiyoda would die – all because the masked one had wanted to make a demonstration of his power by brutally murdering Britannian Nobles and destroying the Britannian Victory Memorial Center, by attacking innocents who merely wanted to enjoy an evening.

'_Why…why didn't he realize that no good can come from reprehensible means?' _Private Kururugi seethed, remembering all those who had died in the line of duty to suppress the rebels Zero sided with, terrorists who stolen poison gas and had purposely fled into the ghettos in an attempt to throw off their trackers, all the while knowing that the only result would be slaughter. _ 'Why doesn't he realize that change has to come from within, that it cannot be forcibly imposed from without…that rebellion is wrong!'_

Of course, a sarcastic voice inside his mind whispered to him that it wasn't wrong, that was the only means by which any change might happen—that it was _his _fault that Japan had become Area 11 in the first place, because he had stained his hands in blood. That even now, he was running away from an inconvenient reality—that his ideal of saving people was a flawed one, borne only as penance for his crimes.

'_No…it isn't…I joined the military to save people because that's the only place I could make a difference,'_ the Honorary Britannian thought, shivering. _'And now the Knight of Ten has given me a chance to prove myself, to end this cycle of violence by killing Zero with my own hands.'_

Just then, the awaited order came over the radio.

"Private Kururugi," intoned the Vampire of Britannia, his voice seeming almost…amused by the situation. "As was expected, the criminal known as Zero has made an appearance in Saitama, and has already slaughtered the first wave of troops sent against him—much like in Shinjuku. Are you prepared to do what is necessary?"

"Yes, my Lord," Suzaku replied, his voice rough as he considered just what he would have to do, a flash of anger shooting through him at the thought of how all those simply doing his duty had been murdered by the terrorist just to make a point.

"Then you have permission to deploy," the voice of the Knight of Ten ordered. "Go forth…and kill Zero!"

"Yes…my Lord," the devicer repeated, face grim as he slammed the throttle of his prototype Knightmare Frame to full, racing off the transport and activating the ME boost as he sprinted past the perimeter, shooting straight for the center of the ghetto, VARIS rifles set to maximum anti-materiel level.

This was a fight he had to win, as he knew that the fight against Zero wasn't just a fight against an enemy. More than that, it was a fight to prove that his ideals were not worthless—that his choices weren't a mistake.

'_There!'_

The enemy was before him, the caped figure that had intruded upon his nightmares, standing along—not even in a Knightmare, as the demonic Zero faced him down, holding a peculiar crimson spear in his hands, a two pronged weapon that he somehow recognized as dangerous.

_Blam! Blam! Blam!_

A volley of blue particle blasts lanced out towards Zero from the VARIS rifles, a trio of blasts that crashed down upon the terrorists and erupted in a massive explosion of light—

_Whoosh!_

—only for the shots to go wide as Zero leapt into the air, launching silver streaks one after another unerringly for the Lancelot—

_Fzzt!_

—but those were deflected by the Knightmare's Blaze Luminous, with Suzaku lashing out with his many Slash Harkens to knock Zero from the sky—or better yet, to rip him in two—

_Slash!_

—but the closest reaching of them was cut down by the glowing crimson spear, as Zero used the momentum to flip away, landing on the ledge of a building and making the traditional gesture of challenge with his hands, a shockwave blasting outward from Zero's position over the immediate area of the field, killing communications.

With a roar, the Lancelot charged, flipping forward as it launched a barrage of molten blue projectiles, seeking to destroy the murderer once and for all!

Back in the mobile command center, Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley laughed at the aggressiveness with which the Honorary Britannian had decided to go after Zero, finding that it reminded him almost of himself on the battlefield.

'_Indeed…I made the right choice in selecting him to be Zero's executioner,' the Vampire of Britannia mused. 'For once he is broken, he will be quite the useful tool in subjugating the last resistance of Area 11. Such delicious irony, such cruel joy…'_

Just then, a priority communication caught his attention, with a message from Lt. Colonel Fayer on Shikine Island, confirming the readiness of his forces—and requesting instructions on the developing hostage situation at Lake Kawaguchi.

"Fayer, this is Luciano Bradley," the Vampire of Britannia replied over a secure channel. "Move the airships to engagement range and prepare for aerial bombardment of Saitama, with the others upon my command. As to Lake Kawaguchi…there is no reason to negotiate. Let those terrorist lose what they value most—launch the cruise missiles."

"Yes, my Lord."

**

* * *

**

**Lake Kawaguchi Convention Center Hotel, Area-11**

As Milly emerged from the stairwell several floors below that which the hostages were being held at, with the hypnotized members of the Student Council following in her wake, the magus tightened her grip on her staff and gems, sensing that something was wrong—terribly wrong.

_Crack-a-crack-a—Clunk!_

The snarl of a rifle locked in continuous fire was suddenly cut off by a metallic crash, screams of panic and discharges of gunfire blending together in an aural symphony of war in the distance, with the sickly sweet stench of blood and death fresh in the air.

'_Oh no…don't tell me…'_

She sensed it then, the hair on the nape of her neck standing on end at a disturbance in the area's flow of mana that indicated magecraft being used, and thought to double back, only to hear a quiet "_Hyu Hyu" _fromthe stairwell below.

'_Oh…shit,' _the magus cursed silently, swallowing as she combined the evidence of magecraft with the signature sound of vampiric ghouls and the scent of blood, only to come to a conclusion that she really would rather not think about. _'A Dead Apostle is likely nearby…and while Shirley and Nina's guns may prove effective against the Dead…'_

Powerful enough Dead Apostles could not be killed by conventional weapons, requiring magecraft or conceptual weapons to do them in—or even wound them. And even when wounded, many Dead Apostles had the curse of restoration, able to turn back time locally to return themselves to an uninjured state.

'_The only choice we have is to head towards the elevator then, as it will probably be more defensible than the open stairwell…'_

So Milly hoped, at least, stepping quickly towards one of the elevators at the end of the end of the hallway, Shirley and Nina following like shadows…

"_Auuughhh!"_

A scream in the distance from a floor below, as another discharging weapon was cut off suddenly—too suddenly.

_Clip-clop. Clip-Clop!_

"Hyu! Hyu!"

The cries from the stairwell was getting louder, getting closer, and Milly quickened her steps—only to whirl about at a clattering sound, as dozens of vampiric ghouls raced through the doors of the stairwell, claws extended as they moved towards the three living souls, apparently drawn in by the scent of young and supple flesh.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

All at once, Nina and Shirley opened fire, kept perfectly calm by the hypnosis Milly had them under, the muzzles of their weapons flashing as they unloaded leaden death into the Dead, bullets tearing through them one by one—but not dropping them.

The vampiric ghouls were but corpses, after all, and did not suffer from such things as pain or shock or whatnot—to destroy them, one would need to rend their bodies to pieces, not simply remove a head or limb or organ.

'_You know…I wish Kallen were here…she could just turn these things to ash…'_

"Shirley, Nina, retreat towards the elevators," Milly barked, vaulting past her subordinates to face the oncoming horde of ghouls, enemies that were closing the distance as she watched.

_Clink!_

Making up her mind, the blonde magus tossed one of her gems into the middle of the hallway with a cry of _**"Anemoi Thuellai—Kaikias!"**_

_WHOOOSH!_

—releasing a year's worth of magical energy into a violent blast of windborne plasma that shredded the hallway and every ghoul within it, rupturing the outer wall of the hotel and revealing a rainy sky outside.

'_Oh, great, that's not ominous at all…'_

Not sensing anything else in front of her, the magus turned, racing for the elevator, to which her friends had supposedly gone—only to freeze as she rounded the corner to see blood coating the walls like thick paint, the red meat of humans ground and pushed about as she came closer and closer to the central area where the lifts were located.

_Gurgle!_

With a bubbling sound, blood poured out of a room, drawing attention to bit of people—arms, feet, bones, brains, fingers, and other organs strewn about, as if all who had headed towards the central area had met their doom, as from all about echoed the sounds of gorging, the chewing of meat, cries for help, and the death screams of people that couldn't be called words anymore….

'_The Dead Apostle…'_

_... What is this?_

Several familiars wrought of paper that she had scattered earlier were now reporting what they saw on other floors:

_Dozens of ghouls eating the people in the hotel alive._

_A hardened soldier screaming as he ran down the hallway, trying to escape. But the claws of a ghoul descending from the ceiling sliced him open from his nose to the back of his head._

A girl who had been missed in the initial sweep for hostages, curled up in her room, crying. _But to the ghouls, a door was no stronger than paper, and within seconds, they demolished it, surging into the room to consume the occupant._

_Striving madly to be the first ones there, people dashing for the elevators and stairwells. But within it, the waiting ghouls decapitated them the instant the doors open._

Milly swallowed at the realization of how bad the situation really was.

'_So, there is no exception…beneath my feet, within this huge box called the hotel...is a scene from Hell I can feel down to my very bones.'_

_Crack! Crack!_

A blur, a muffled discharge of guns, and a thump, as Milly made the final steps about the corner only to see the worst—that Shirley and Nina were laying face up on the ground motionless, necks bloody, with weapons dropped at their feet, a figure just pulling his fangs from Shirley's skin – and several ghouls looking on in the distance, guarding the elevators

'_No…this can't be…No….No…No…no…NO.'_

Slowly, the vampire rose, revealing himself to be a young, purple-eyed boy of indeterminate age, who smiled upon seeing the blood-splattered form of Milly, wiping the blood from his lips. The Dead Apostle Rolo Haliburton.

"So…a magus, I see," the little boy intoned, raising a pistol and aiming it at the Ashford heir. "Well, I cannot allow witnesses, so d—"

"_**Atlas!**__"_

The balance of the gems was tossed this time, a deadly word of command spoken to crush the Dead Apostle under atmospheric pressure, as the compressed silver cylinder in Milly's hand extended explosively to its full length in a blinding thrust to disarm the enemy!

**

* * *

**

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 64_

After shattering the illusion that his "master" had trapped him in, the magus Lelouch Lamperouge opened his eyes to a world of pain, wincing as the abuse his body had taken in the fight against the succubus registered all at once, almost, but not quite, sending him back to blissful unconsciousness, with the feeling that he was lucky to be alive.

'_But I have no time for that…what happened after I was…'_

Defeated was the only word for it, and given the stated cause of White Ren's sudden aggression, the exiled princeling resolved never again to use the _**Gandr**_ spell, knowing that what the succubus said actually made some sense.

To his surprise, however, he was not lying slumped against the wall where he remembered blacking out, but was instead lying on a bench of sorts in a rather spacious chamber that seemed like it had been used as a _tepidarium, _an ornamented room where bathers in ancient times would be anointed with oil. And sitting on the bench next to his head was the Satsujinki, looking about the room towards the only entrance warily—but with a trace of fatigue.

"Ma…na?" Lelouch croaked, causing the Ryougi to look down at him, a slight bit of tension seeming to leave her when she saw that he was awake.

"So you finally woke up," the Satsujinki said quietly, her usually sharp gaze softening for a moment – but only a moment—before she arose from her perch, her eyes glowing blue once again as she looked over the magus' injured form. "I wasn't sure if you would, given that the succubus apparently subdued you with an illusion that drew upon your own stores of mana to sustain itself. And of course, it's been over a day since the attack…and you hadn't stirred at all. Hmph…it seems as if you'll live."

Dead silence, in which even the fluttering of snowflakes to the ground was audible

"…have you been...up this entire time?" Lelouch asked slowly, trying hard not to make any sudden movements, considering how much his body still hurt—and what he remembered of a dangerous person's ability to react to sudden movements in a very violent way.

The light in Mana's eyes faded as she turned away from the magus, looking towards the exit once again.

"What do you think, Lelouch?" she murmured with a trace of fatigue, her mask slipping as she used his real name once more. "I couldn't exactly just go to sleep, since for better or for worse, you do happen to be my partner."

"You were the one who brought me here then?" Lelouch asked then, forcing power into his muscles as he sat up slowly, inspecting his body, finding to his shock at the rather numerous bandages on his body, covering several of the more nasty wounds—wounds that were apparently properly cleaned and medicated at that. "And…"

The magus trailed off, swallowing hard, knowing how, after the dream incident, they had maintained a certain distance from one another, their words formal and impassive with none of the playful banter they had exchanged before, their emotions rather colder, and especially physically, where they were careful not to touch each other. That she had chosen to bring him here and had done all this…

It was one of the little bits of kindness that Lelouch had noticed about the Satsujinki, that she was willing to help him and cater to his pace—he wasn't bad at reading people, and had seen how frustrated she could be at times, but also how much she restrained herself, how much of the beautiful grim reaper was not focused on death alone. There was deliberateness in every movement she made, a sense of flowing that was intense and really quite captivating…

"…thank you," he managed to say at last, not quite daring to meet the Satsujinki's gaze, if indeed she was looking in his direction. "I don't say this often, but…"

"…I said I'd guard your back, didn't I?" Mana cut in, seeming a little…Lelouch didn't know, actually, only that her tone was odd. "And even so, I didn't quite expect what happened after I told you to take point."

"I don't blame you for it…" Lelouch muttered, looking at the assassin's slender profile, wondering just what it was she really thought about all this.

"So what happened, anyway—why were you trapped for so long?" Mana asked wryly, shaking her head. "I thought your specialty was mind magic, and dispelling illusions."

Lelouch was silent for a long moment, before saying at last…

"A nightmare," he answered honestly, feeling that Mana deserved at least that much. "That I would achieve all that I had sought, and yet, lose everything in the process, truly becoming a void, an embodiment of Zero."

The Satsujinki's eyes widened imperceptibly as she turned back to Lelouch with a tiny frown upon her lips. The void was something she was quite familiar with after all, given that it was the source of her power, the power to see death.

'_Could it be that he, too, is familiar with it but in a different sense? Is that why the Witch chose him?'_

"An image of yourself, what you expected to see," Mana interpreted, drawing upon some of the dreams she had had before her first death to fill in the details. "Expectations carried to their logical ends, a continuation of old fears."

"Yes," Lelouch confirmed, closing his eyes as his body sagged, though a spark of annoyance flashed through him at how easily the assassin was able to read him. "Does that ever happen to you?"

"What do you think?" the Ryougi shot back, but it was without much rancor, if there was any at all. "…there is a Japanese tradition called Kagamiwari – breaking the mirror."

"Without seven years of bad luck?" Lelouch quipped, his somewhat sleep-addled mind unable to keep from interjecting with a bit of wit.

"Heh...that's a Britannian superstition," Mana replied, shaking her head as she sighed. "In Japanese tradition, the mirror contains an old image—what you expect to see, something that conforms with self-image based on what one remembers, for a fake continuity, a mental restraint denying the possibility of change."

"…how stagnant."

"That's why there is the tradition of breaking the mirror," Mana responded wryly, looking away once again, moving to go to the door to check for any sign of intrusion when—

"Don't…I'll do it," Lelouch groaned, forcing himself to his feet, thankful that apparently nothing was broken—just bruised. "You should get some rest."

"What?" the Satsujinki asked, turning in surprise to find that the magus was standing, looking directly at her, his eyes tired but kind for once.

"Like you said…you're my partner, my accomplice—and if you guard my back, the least I can do is guard yours," the exile said, for once without any of his masks, just a simple truth to the one who had already seen into core of his being. "Besides, what was that about change?"

A quiet nod, as something imperceptible passed between them, and the two shadows switched places, the watcher going to get much needed rest, the dreamer keeping watch through the remaining hours of the night.

* * *

A/N: At long last, another chapter - and since I double-released the Notes story last week, there will be a second chapter of this one coming up in just a few days, with the conclusion of the battles in the Ghettos and the Hotel, and more on the training of the Magus and Satsujinki. We may even see a Fujou soon, though no points for guessing which one. Thanks for reading, and remember, reviews are highly appreciated! :)


	19. Night Labyrinth

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to the Code Geass, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

**

* * *

Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 70_

Near silent footsteps marked the passage of two cloaked figures through the catacombs of Arche Koeln, the Lamperouge magus and the Satsujinki moving in near darkness from one of the structures that had served as their base for a few days to another, weapons close at hand, hoping that their destination would hopefully prove as relatively comfortable as the tepidarium where they had spent the first few nights, or as defensible as the abandoned magus' workshop of the next few—though the Lamperouge scion did have to admit that the strange flow of magical energy in the remains of the atelier had been rather off-putting.

'_But despite the unpleasantness, the workshop's defenses seemed effective against our trainers, as they never came close to discovering that location,'_ Lelouch Lamperouge mused silently, taking his turn at point as they travelled through the subterranean passageways, following a flow of magical energy towards the city center, his affinity with earth magecraft helping him cope with the near total darkness. _'Still, no matter how safe it seemed, staying too long in any one location is inadvisable, as even the best defensive position can easily become a death trap when surrounded by overwhelming forces—forces that White Ren is no doubt capable of bringing to bear.'_

At least in some respects, it was easier to hide here, as the spells reinforcing the tunnel were denser, magical energy redolent in the air, enough to hide their mana signatures among the noise, especially if one was not in the tunnels themselves.

'_But I must keep my guard up, in case White Ren has set up a trap spell amidst the other clusters of magical energy_, _just_ _as I have_ _left several false trails myself…'_

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

As aboveground travel had proven decidedly…unsafe (if one could refer to being repeatedly attacked as unsafe), the two had decided to try a different means of getting around the ancient city, with Lelouch suggesting the catacomb tunnels, since they were an improvement, defensively, from being caught in the open, limiting the avenues of approach available to an attacker, the area one needed to defend, as well as the number of forces one could be attacked by at any given time.

Knowing exactly what their sadistic trainers were capable of—but not knowing exactly by what means they would be tested (as White Ren was always one to keep the full extent of her abilities secret, unless otherwise necessary), the two of them had agreed to shift locations every other days—or sooner, depending on the level of hostile activity in the area. While it seemed an unspoken agreement that the survival game was only played during the day, given that the two had not been attacked after nightfall yet, the Satsujinki and the magus knew better than to assume that this state would remain unchanged.

This was why, as part of their daily routine, the two set out not only to map out what they could of the city to get a better idea of the peculiarities of the possible battleground, but to locate alternate places at which they might take refuge for the night (or set up an ambush to strike down a pursuer), in case the location of their current camp was compromised. To some, it might seem unnecessary effort, but…

'_The succubus does seem to enjoy mind-games—especially preying on one's expectations or where or when they will attack,' _Lelouch recalled, lips pressing into a thin line as he noted how the unstructured nature of this month of training actually was quite stressful, mimicking the realities of the battlefield: the tension that came from unfamiliar territory, the stress of being uncertain of where or when an enemy would attack, and a number of other factors as well. _'And of course, the matter of morale…'_

Given that in the past week, the duo had had some rather ill-fated clashes with their…trainers _(as _both Lelouch and Mana very, very grudgingly referred to them, having decided that referring to them with expletives could get confusing after a while), each skirmish ending in defeat at the end of the day (obviously not lethally, though being knocked unconscious or disarmed was almost as bad, given that one was completely at the enemy's mercy)—usually with Lelouch as the one defeated—though Mana herself had been neutralized once or twice by a potent combination of Nanaya and an unseen psychic—one she rather suspected was Fujino Asagami.

'More importantly, the near darkness limits abilities which require line of sight. Which is useful, as it is difficult enough to deal with Nanaya without outside intervention,' Mana mused, a slight grimace crossing her delicate features as she remembered how an enemy with telekinesis—probably Fujino Asagami, since telekinetic abilities were what the Asagami family was known for—had disrupted her rhythm in battle, preventing her from protecting the magus she was training with. 'Further, as I have not often encountered this ability in the past, it is not as familiar—and thus not as easy to kill—as magecraft.'

"Something on your mind?" the smooth voice of the exile broke in, with the magus pausing to look over his shoulder at the assassin, not flinching—much to his credit—from the glowing blue eyes that met his gaze, even in the shadows. He shivered, then, clutching his travelling cloak a little tighter about his body, but whether it was from the cold or from his companion's rather…piercing gaze, he was unsure. "You've been rather quiet today…"

"More so than usual, L.L.?" the Satsujinki inquired as her eyes bore into the magus' back. "And shouldn't you be paying more attention to what is front of you, rather than I who am behind you?"

"I am paying attention…but then, when walking in darkness, one tends to become more sensitive to everything in one's surroundings. Particularly what is behind me, given that the back is quite the weak spot, physically and metaphorically," Lelouch rejoined, turning back to the tunnel in front of him, as his consciousness flitted out along the confines of the underground passageways momentarily—and then back to his main body, all in the span of seconds. "But you already know that, don't you?"

"I would hardly be worthy of the title _'Satsujinki'_ if I did not," came the somewhat dry reply, with Mana sounding _almost _amused. "Learning how to act in utter darkness—and how to guard my weaknesses— were two of the first things I was taught long ago. But then, of course, even darkness is not absolute, not to my eyes…"

"Heh…you do have a point there," the Lamperouge magus admitted, his thoughts drifting for a moment about the young woman's mysterious past, and how she had become such a brutally effective killer. Apart from her name, some of her abilities (the mundane applications of which were actually quite interesting, as she had demonstrated the ability to clean dirty clothing by picturing the "concept" of the stains / sweat / dirt on them, and then simply killing that concept—though the magus did wonder if Mana used such a technique to keep herself clean as well…), and that she was part of something called the Demon Hunter Organization, there was little he knew of her. "Then you understand why I am so aware of you, given that you stand in the perfect position to kill me at any time…"

There was a moment of silence as Mana's footsteps paused, with Lelouch glancing backwards to see a raised eyebrow on the assassin's face, before deciding to amend his previous remark.

"Not," he hastened to clarify, more than a little self-deprecation in his tone, "that you would be in any less of a position to kill me even if I was standing behind you, given the difference in our abilities. That said…" He trailed off, puzzling out just how to word his question. "…is there anything you _can't_ kill?"

The assassin was quiet for some time as the two walked along, consider the query and how best to answer it, how much to reveal, as—

_Whump!_

—she ducked, eyes widening as she drew her knife from its sheath in one smooth motion as a colorless distortion bloomed in the air, an attack that would have twisted her head off, had she not avoided it. And then…

_Rumble!_

"L.L., get out of here," the Satsujinki intoned, voice hardening as she _moved _back and forth, side to side, the deadly colorless distortions chasing her, tearing furrows in the solid rock as she evaded it, throwing up splinters of stone and dust. "Go to rendezvous point K2."

"What—?" Lelouch began to ask, confused as to what was happening, since even his sweeps had detected nothing out of the ordinary as far as magical energy was concerned. _'It can't be a spell, and no one else is in the tunnel, so…'_

"Just go," Mana hissed, as the distortions continued to go for her head unerringly, missing her by scant millimeters as she dived and rolled and parried.

Lelouch nodded then set off, the sound of the magus' rapid footsteps fading into the distance as he moved.

'_Good, he's out of immediate danger. Now…that attack…it's coming from above? That would imply clairvoyance…which means… Asagami's…!' _she thought to herself, gritting her teeth as she pondered how the enemy was tracking her in darkness. _'But…the Asagami do not have telepathic abilities, so how…wait, I know…!'_

Coming to a realization, the assassin took a risk and deactivated her Mystic Eyes, the subtle light they cast in the darkness suddenly extinguished, color fading back to their normal blue, as—the relentless attacks suddenly ceased, leaving all in silence.

'_It seems that I was right…that the Asagami was using my eyes to target me,' _the Ryougi mused, still wary, for it was unlikely that her attackers would give up after only attempt at—

_Rumble._

Mana schooled her face into an impassive mask, suppressing a twitch of annoyance as _the tunnel itself_ began to tear itself apart, fragments of rock and earth around her ripping free of the walls as the entire area was blanketed in the force of the distortion, the subterranean passageway twisting violently out of shape, hairline fractures exploding into webs of fissures as her surroundings shook themselves apart.

If she stayed here, she would be cornered sooner or later, since she couldn't use her Mystic Eyes for long without being immediately targeted. If she ran, refraining from using her Mystic Eyes, then her enemies would hunt her down, herding her in one direction or another—_not _something she was inclined to allow, as the assassin preferred to dominate the battlefield, rather than the other way around.

'_Both options are unacceptable, so…' _

A beatific smile crossed her lips at the thought of the carnage to come.

'…_I will take the battle to her!'_

In the span of a moment, her Mystic Eyes of Death Perception flared to life, blazing an electric blue in the darkness as Mana sought out—and found—the points at which the lines of death drawn all over the ancient tunnel came together in solid black dots.

_Whump!_

Once again, the distortion came for her—

_Flash!_

With a sudden blur of movement as she evaded, the assassin tossed a second combat knife at one of the points, the implement flashing as it was thrust smoothly into the tunnel's point of death.

Instantly, the lines racing through the tunnel undulated, tremors building to roars as this section of the subterranean channel was literally killed, caving in upon itself.

_Thud! Roar!_

A rain of debris, with any exclamations of surprise from above drowned amidst the crashing rubble, the stone blocks and spells of preservation that lost their meaning breaking apart and crumbling away.

'_Wha—absurd!'_

For the last Asagami, standing on the road above, what happened was a total surprise attack, with the psychic losing her concentration, scrabbling backwards but still losing her footing as the ground beneath her was suddenly destroyed, almost causing her to topple into the chasm below—had she not been pulled back from the edge by a certain Shiki Nanaya, who was serving as her bodyguard.

'_Did she kill the structure itself?' _the Shikage thought incredulously, as he leapt backwards, grabbing Fujino about the waist as he retreated back to more solid footing, intending to set her down as soon as he could, since the counterattack would undoubtedly be—

_Clang!_

—but he was forced to drop his charge in an unceremonious heap as a figure in a torn white kimono came flying out of the cloud of debris like a Shinigami out of legend, a silver knife slashing at his lines—an attack he barely managed to block, each mirroring the other as they pushed off from the point of impact, both the Nanaya and the Ryougi making controlled landings on the sea of rubble that remained of the ground, eerie blue eyes staring intently at the other.

"Nanaya," the Satsujinki spoke by way of greeting, eyes flicking from the assassin to the psychic behind him, who was even now rising to her feet.

"Ryougi," the Nanaya acknowledged—drawing his other blade as he launched into an attack, flash-stepping forward faster than sight itself, one knife stabbing for the point on Mana's chest, the other—

_Clang! Crash!_

—it didn't matter, as both were blocked, with the Satsujinki relying on instinct alone to react to attack faster than conscious sight, silver arcs of the Ryougi's knives crashing against the Nanaya's, as they passed one another, deflecting with force as—

_Clink!_

—one of the Nanaya's knives fell apart in his hands, crumbling to metal dust as he landed.

"That's the second time you've destroyed my weapon," the older assassin observed idly, gaze growing sharp and irritated as he recalled how his ancestral weapon—"Nanatsu-Yoru"—too had been destroyed by the girl before him…and how great of a threat this made her.

"So it is," Mana responded, before she, too, _moved, _faster than humanly possible as she slashed at her trainer, launching a flurry of attacks, as—

_Squelch!_

—one of her arms was destroyed, exploding into a mass of blood and torn flesh as a swirl of force pulsed out, twisting it beyond recognition, forcing her to flash-step backwards to avoid a slash to her lines of death—lines that overlapped with the lines of life that Nanaya could see.

'_Damnit…another combination attack …' _Mana seethed, pulling out of range of her enemy's knife, only to be hit by a powerful kick, knocking her to the ground, where she skidded backwards, nearly falling into the chasm she had opened up earlier. _'Touko is not going to be happy with having to replace another arm…'_

Still, she wasn't beaten yet, and her eyes gleamed as she recognized one crucial fact: that because Fujino had used her ability so much, she could now comprehend the form of the attack, that the distortion that had so harmed her was not merely colorless anymore, but a beautiful spiral of red and green.

"Tell me Ryougi," Shiki Nanaya intoned sinisterly, his knife in his hand as he looked upon the wounded figure of his student. "In the end, you must know that resistance is futile, that you cannot defeat both of us in your wounded state, so why…why do you persist?"

In response to this, Mana Ryougi put power into her limbs, forcing herself to her feet as she looked defiantly at the Nanaya and the Asagami, a dangerous smile playing on her lips.

"…because I choose to," the Satsujinki murmured, form blurring once again as she stabbed the ground, triggering another collapse of her surroundings as Nanaya stumbled, losing track of his quarry. It was only for an instant, but an instant was all Mana needed as she launched herself towards her prey—not the Nanaya this time, but the psychic who had forced her from the tunnels in the first place, her knife hissing as it stabbed forward through the air towards the figure in black.

'_Bend,'_ Fujino thought, unleashing a powerful distortion towards the raven-haired Chokushi no Magan's other arm, as if to suppress an irrational stab of fear as the figure of the Ryougi surged closer, closer, closer, looming larger and larger in her vision.

_Slash!_

But the distortion was nullified by a flash of light, a bright swing of a knife that left a lingering trace in the darkness.

'_Bend.'_

Feeling the chill of encroaching death, Fujino looked at Mana and commanded the world to _'Bend,' _creating fulcrums on Mana's arm and legs to rotate in different directions, to twist her aside at the very least, if not destroying her limbs outright.

_Slash!_

...or it should have twisted her.

But once again, Mana_, _whose left arm had already been reduced to a mass of pulp, her kimono soaked with blood, nullified Fujino's "distortion" just by swinging the knife in her right hand. Or perhaps one might say...she killed it was killed.

'_Bend, bend, bend, bend!'_

Many distortions crashed outwards, many fulcrums were formed, as columns to the side of the road were torn to pieces, the debris from their destruction flying into the Ryougi's path.

_Slash!_

Time and time again, the knife was swung, eliminating everything in the Satsujinki's path. A blur to the side, as the Nanaya attempted to match the younger assassin's speed with his own flash steps, attacking as—

_Crack!_

—Mana twisted in the air, a graceful kick from one of her long, shapely legs smashing Nanaya aside with unforeseen power, using the impact reaction to accelerate once more, reaching her destination at last as—

_Thud!_

—the raven-haired Chokushi no Magan adept tackled the psychic to the ground, straddling her as she looked down at the older woman with the infinitely deep eyes of Death itself, causing Fujino's throat to tremble as she recalled the memory of a night long, long ago.

"No…not again,"the Asagami whimpered, her composure shattering as she saw a wholly different Satsujinki before her, a familiar fear racing through her, and even more familiar words. "Are you... going to kill me?"

Mana did not answer, as her knife moved—

_Clang!_

—killing a blade that had been aimed for her torso, even as the Satsujinki ducked in response to a premonition of danger, rolling off Fujino just in time to avoid a shadow leaping over her shoulder, hand closing futilely upon thin air where Mana's throat was a moment ago—

"_**Bend!"**_

—and as if warding off a demon from her nightmares, Fujino Asagami screamed at the top of her lungs for everything to bend.

_Rumble-rumble-CRASH!_

A tumultuous roar, like the crash of lightning. The buildings all around the pair screamed as stone was wrenched from stone, everything tilting as the ground itself violently ripped itself apart as the flux of uncontrolled power released by the Asagami—edifices that had stood for thousands of years, finally sundered as the psychic sought to banish the figure she feared most...all because she did not want to die.

_Thud!_

When the shaking finally stopped, and the dust cleared, the Ryougi and the Nanaya found themselves across from one another, watching each other warily, though the Nanaya was rather disadvantaged by having to cradle the Asagami in his arms, having prevented her from a nasty spill of several meters onto solid rock.

"It would seem that victory is yours for today…Satsujinki," the older assassin conceded, noting that he was currently unarmed, given that his student had destroyed his weapons, and that the Asagami was now unconscious. _'And the Ryougi avoided Kyokushi no Nanaya – a terrifying student indeed.' _

With that, the Nanaya withdrew from the field, bearing the Asagami with him, watched by a rather winded and bloody Mana Ryougi, who, upon seeing them disappear from sight, sat on a piece of rubble and began to treat her rather severe wounds.

'_And so I live another day…,' _she thought to herself tiredly, lips quirking upwards at the thought.

Meanwhile, back underground, Lelouch vi Britannia found himself running for his life as he fled, just barely managing to escape the collapsing tunnel, chest heaving, lungs burning as he ran faster than he had ever done in his life. As a rule, the Lamperouge magus certainly preferred mental exercise to physical exercise, as the former was something he was much more adept at, but he had to admit that having one's life on the line did provide a great incentive to improve.

'_In spite of all the precautions we took to avoid being detected—laying false trails, travelling underground, being ever vigilant—we were found. More than that, we were caught unawares, which is…troubling,'_ the magus reflected, his breathing uneven as his feet continued to move, his senses seeking any anomalous presences. Given that he was undoubtedly the weaker between himself and Mana in terms of combat potential, that his latest plan had fallen apart, and that most of the time, the day would end with him being knocked unconscious, the exile had every reason to be on-edge._ 'I will have to consult with Mana when this day is over to find out what went wrong…as I doubt my…master…will tell me.'_

His pace slowed as he came to a branch in the tunnels, his consciousness dissociating from his body for a few seconds as he stretched out his senses, flowing with the web of spells down one—

_WHAM!_

—only to be jolted back into his body by an all too familiar presence—one that was approaching from the distance, as another mind evicted him from the tunnel he was possessing, leaving him rather disoriented. He shook himself, dissociating his mind from his body once more to check the other tunnel, revealing nothing out of the ordinary this time.

'_What…was that?' _the exile wondered, glancing between the two tunnels – torn between which to take. One clearly held someone capable of ejecting him from what he was possessing, which would seem to indicate a powerful magus—possibly on the order of White Ren. Then again, the Lamperouge magus knew that the demon familiar who he reluctantly acknowledged as teacher was perfectly capable of concealing her presence, so the possibility existed that she might be waiting down the other tunnel, while the presence in the first might have simply been a trap spell. _'For obvious reasons, I cannot turn back, and considering the situation logically, I know that I cannot defeat the succubus, so I will take the second tunnel.'_

Taking a deep breath, Lelouch gripped the cylindrical base of his telescoping metal quarterstaff in one hand, keeping it retracted for the moment so that he might be able to surprise who—or what—ever might be in this tunnel, taking one-two-three steps forward—just enough to get past the mouth of the tunnel.

'_Before I go any further, I had better block off the tunnel behind me,'_ the magus thought, knowing that it was basic strategy to prevent remove—or at least minimize—the possibility of being attacked from both sides. _'And while I haven't shaped earth before, the basic principles should be similar enough to ice spells…'_

Closing his eyes, Lelouch turned his thoughts inwards to concentrate on the flow of mana running throughout his Crest and Magic Circuit. Not having been exposed to earth-element magecraft before (unlike ice spells, which he had worked with quite extensively—from both the casting and the…receiving end of said spells), manipulating rock didn't come as easily as he had expected—especially when layers of magical energy and older spells already permeated the substance he was trying to mold.

Still…it wouldn't hurt to try, at least, since he knew he had some compatibility with it.

"Stone forged within earth's hidden depths, slumbering for aeons, rise! Become as a wall and defend me from my enemies," the magus chanted rapidly, his words serving to help him visualize the intended effect as he threw his arm forward, giving form to the raw magical energy surging through his circuits by speaking the name of his spell, binding illusion to reality! _**"Aspis Petras!"**_

Magical energy flared out of him, twining with the ambient mana in the air as the spell took effect, the stone of the walls about the mouth of the tunnel becoming fluid and flowing towards his outstretched palm as if to form a shield –

_Crack! Shatter!_

—only to produce a rather underwhelming result, as the "shield" broke apart, leaving only a waist-high "wall" of sorts which he didn't think would really inconvenience any serious pursuer.

'_Not quite a success, but one was not expected on the first try. At the very least, the stone responded, meaning that at least some of its properties are similar to ice,' _Lelouch thought to himself, filing away the pertinent details in his mind for later review. _'In any case, I will certainly need more practice…'_

As it was, he had wasted enough time…and his half-failed spell could possibly have alerted the other presence to his location, if it was indeed another magus, meaning that he had to move—which he did, after binding a small amount of magical energy to the half-formed "wall", one that keyed to erupt into spears of ice if someone passed by that wasn't himself or the Satsujinki.

'_It won't be as effective as the succubus' trap spells, but given our respective skill levels, it will have to do…'_

With the passage behind him as secure as he could make them with his limited abilities, the Lamperouge Magus set off down his chosen tunnel, keeping his senses peeled for any sign of hostile activity—knowing that if he missed anything, the consequences would quite possibly prove to be rather painful, if not fatal.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

But as his footsteps echoed in the darkness, Lelouch found that he didn't detect the presence of any others—or at least, nothing of a magical nature—which he dearly hoped meant that the sadistic one named Nanaya wasn't waiting at the end.

'_Heh…hope is certainly the best spice to bring out despair…' _he thought darkly, listening as—

"_**AzoLto",**_ a musical voice intoned, as a spark of fire blazed where there had been darkness, half-blinding the magus with its sudden light, but also revealing the figure of a familiar looking woman clad in a full length dress the color of fresh blood, whose blue eyes gazed upon him with a grim impassivity as madder flames danced over a gloved hand.

'_Fire magecraft? But why didn't I—'_

_Whoosh!_

But he had time to ponder the matter further, as flames exploded into being around him, his cloak erupting into a fiery conflagration, the heat of which bled through, licking at his skin.

"Ack!" Lelouch cried out involuntarily, diving into a roll immediately in an attempt to put out the flames—and to avoid being hit, knowing that a moving target was harder to hit than an immobile one, discarding his cloak as he hit the ground and recovered to his feet, lunging at his assailant—

_Click-snap!_

—his metal quarter staff _hiss-snapping _to full extension in an instant as the dark-haired exile thrust the cold metallic length of his rod at his foe, hoping to surprise her with his blow and keep her from attacking, as—

_Crump!_

—a flash of red registered in his vision as the woman jumped out of the way, turning the dodge into a spinning kick that slammed into his chest, hurling him to the ground, where—

_Whoosh!_

—Lelouch barely managed to avoid being incinerated by rolling out of the way as a blaze erupted where he had been scant instants before. Forcing himself to his feet, he retreated, spinning his staff as an impromptu shield of sorts between himself and his enemy. He knew from facing White Ren that the quarterstaff possessed some anti-magic properties, so the exile was willing to risk that it held true here.

_Whoosh!_

It seemed to work, partially, as the next gout of flame merely consumed a pant-leg, instead of reducing him to ash, with a slight frown evident on his assailant's lips.

'_She's not tossing fire at me—she's causing my clothing to ignite,'_ the Lamperouge magus concluded from the attacks he had experienced, even as he dropped and rolled once more, touching the cold metal of his staff to the flames for good measure, snuffing them out before they could do much damage.

'_It seems as if her ability is to cause ignition, making her much more dangerous than if she was simply throwing fireballs,' _the exile concluded from the data available to him, as he recovered to his feet once more—only to see his opponent charging.

"_**FoLLte,"**_ the flame magus intoned, closing the distance between them with long, graceful strides, both hands wreathed in flames now as she spun about in a whirling dance of destruction, moving towards him—

_Clunk!_

—one hand stopping the motion of his staff, as the other smashed mercilessly into his center of mass—

"_**Eightfold Shield: Frozen Earth!"**_

_Shatter!_

—or would have, had Lelouch not hastily conjured up an impromptu barrier as he leapt backwards, condensing and freezing the moisture in the air to form a jagged crystal shield wrought of eight overlapping petals of light-occluding ice that blocked the flame magus' assault—and more importantly, her line of sight, which he thought was necessary for her to ignite things.

'_For there would be no reason to reveal herself with a minor flame if she simply wanted to disable me,' _the Lamperouge magus thought, risking his safety—and his victory on this gamble, smiling as the next few moments bore this out, with—

_Crash!_

—the shield of ice being blown apart in a fierce eruption of magical energy as—

"You cannot see me," the boy spoke in a language unlike any upon the Earth today, a language that had not been spoken since thousands of years ago.

_Darkness._

With a muttered "Tch!", Azaka Kokutou skidded to a halt, stiffening in place as the figure of Lelouch vi Britannia simply disappeared from her sight entirely as if he had never been there to begin with. Save for the rise and fall of her chest, she was completely still.

'_A Master of Babel…?' _the flame magus thought to herself, stretching out her other senses in an attempt to locate the one she had attacked, hearing the sound of retreating footsteps. _'Too bad the area here echoes too much to rely completely on sound…'_

_Whoosh! Whoosh!_

Flames erupted from the ground from where she heard the scamper of footsteps, but faded after an instant, leaving only scorch marks as they hit nothing—

_Thud!_

—and then Azaka froze as she was swept off her feet, landing in an undignified heap on the ground, as she felt the cold metal of Lelouch's quarterstaff pressing lightly against her throat.

'_If I try to burn him, he will strike…an unfavorable situation,' _Touko's apprentice muttered in her head, giving in to the inevitable.

"Very well then…I yield," she said quietly, though not-altogether-willingly, closing her eyes as she felt the staff removed from its rather threatening position. Taking care not to do any hasty movements, in case her opponent took that as a sigh of deceit, Azaka rose slowly to her feet, looking in the direction in which she imagined that the young ice magus stood.

For his part, Lelouch was rather taken aback as he finally got a better view of his opponent, finding what it was that made her look so familiar: the flame magus looked almost like an older version of Mana, or like a sister at least, lacking the Satsujinki's _Mystic Eyes…' _

There were some differences, to be sure, but the similarities were simply eerie…

"Who…are you…?" he managed, retracting his staff as he turned to go, banishing any odd thoughts.

"Kokutou," came the response, one that triggered a spark of memory in the exile's head. "Azaka Kokutou."

'_Cocteau?' _Lelouch thought to himself, eyes widening as he recalled when he had heard that name in the past. '_Wait…didn't Mana say to refer to her as Cocteau in the field, when she first introduced herself?'_

"I don't suppose you—"

"That…is a secret," came the abrupt, sardonic reply, as Azaka tilted her head to the side, sensing something in the distance—and Lelouch caught the sound of a distant explosion. "And you had better go."

'_My trap spell just went off…' _the exile realized, deciding that it was time to leave the scene of the conflict before enemy reinforcements arrived—which, considering the powerful mana signature, might well be White Ren herself, a confrontation that Lelouch did not desire at this point.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

With a last glance back, the Lamperouge magus set off once again, the sound of his footsteps quickly receding into the distance, leaving Azaka Kokutou standing alone in the darkness of the catacombs.

Several minutes later, a certain white-clad succubus walked up alongside her, about to make some pithy remark when—

"You didn't tell me he knew the Unified Language," Azaka spoke abruptly, pre-empting the demon familiar, who had been, she was fairly sure, about to say something scathing about her loss.

The barest flicker of surprise registered on White Ren's face, before the succubus managed to smooth it back into a carefully neutral expression.

"Of that, I wasn't aware…" the white cat spoke after several moments of silence.

'_So you were hiding a trick or two, boya…what else did the Witch teach you, I wonder?'_

**

* * *

Lake Kawaguchi, Area 11**

_**"Atlas!" **_

With a word of command, wind magus Milly Ashford hurled the balance of her gems at the Dead Apostle before her, invoking a spell to crush the Dead Apostle under atmospheric pressure, or at least to freeze him in place, as the compressed silver cylinder in Milly's hand extended explosively to its full length, and the blonde lunged forward to disarm her enemy—literally, if possible, though she would settle for just getting rid of his weapon.

'_Dead Apostles are rather difficult to fight without a Conceptual Weapon, after all, or powerful enough magecraft,' _Milly noted, recalling the lessons in the Art that her grandfather had given her over the years. _'So, since I don't have a Conceptual Weapon, and thus can't be sure of killing him in one go, disarming him is my best option—especially since __no one uses a gun against a magus unless he or she has special ammunition to hurt a magus badly.'_

'_**Xiphos Aellô!'**_ the magus lips shaped soundlessly, meaning "Blade of the Stormy One," keywords that she had associated with channeling wind magecraft through her staff, invoking a bounded field to wrap her weapon in layers of compressed and gyrated wind, rendering it nigh invisible to others—and enhancing its cutting power.

With all the speed she was capable of, Milly attacked, the wind-blade ripping the pistol from the vampire's grasp by chopping off his hand, sending it clattering away, as Milly's weapon reversed direction, plunging straight for the Dead Apostle's ne—

_Flash!_

—but the power of Milly's restraining spell was broken as the vampire flared his mana, breaking free of the containment using the life energy he had harvested since the night he had encountered the Satsujinki, reinforcing himself as he sprung back out of range, with his ghouls moving to the forefront to attack the magus!

'_Damnit…this isn't good…my first attack failed to kill him,' _the Ashford magus thought grimly, her visage hardening as she noted their relative positions—and thought of something rather troubling. _'On the night that Kallen, Lelouch, and I went after the false Zero, the Satsujinki was not present, as she had gone to follow a lead on the whereabouts of the Dead Apostle in Area 11. If this is the opponent she faced, then…'_

If she wanted to survive this encounter, much less have a chance of victory, the magus couldn't afford to hold back. And yet, given the situation, with two of her friends on the ground near the enemy, she couldn't risk unleashing a spell on the order of _**Anemoi Thuellai **_(or the weaker _**Kaikias**_ variation), since that would assure the deaths of Shirley and Nina.

'_There's a possibility that he hasn't injected his blood into them yet – and even if he has, it will war against the residual power of my Mystic Eyes of Enchantment for a while before it can take effect. So then, if I can defeat the vampire before then…!'_

"Hyu! Hyu!" came a ghastly cry, and then there was no time to think, as a pack of ghouls surged towards her, less individual creatures than a ravenous tide of death, emaciated figures with faces like dried out skulls, bodies withered, as if flash-dried from having the blood drained out of them—wishing for her to join them in perpetual enslavement.

_Slash! Whirr!_

The two corpses in the lead were met by several rapid slashes of her wind-blade staff, cleaving their bodies in twain as she spun about, defending herself in a whirling dervish of pain as she tore into their ranks.

'_One down, two, four, six…at least they can only approach from one direction. '_

But here the narrowness of the hallway actually helped, as—

_Whump!_

—a black blur leapt over her head with blinding speed, with Milly whirling to parry a razor-sharp claw with an audible _clang_, pushing the vampire backward with her weapon—and then stabbing backwards to smash open the chest of a ghoul behind her.

'_This is bad…I'm surrounded now …'_

She couldn't afford to turn her back to the Dead Apostle, but neither could she ignore the ghouls, as their numbers made them deadly enemies as well, so there was one thing to do: summon forth a vortex of cutting wind around her body, allowing her to concentrate on the foe before her without worry.

'_**Venti **__**Coriaceus**__**!'**_

_Fwoosh!_

With a roar, the air twisted to her command, a cyclone of wind wrapping around her torso and limbs in an instant, whirring past at velocities that could rend the flesh from bones.

"Hyu! Hy—"

_Whump—_

A dull whine sounded as another wave of ghouls rushed her defenses, their inhumanly cold hands reaching for her succulent flesh, fingers like needles stabbing to rip out her kidneys—

_Whirrr—Splat!_

—only for those appendages to be ripped apart like a corpse placed through a woodchipper, a spray of blood splattering the walls as they pushed themselves into the meat grinder without incident, the Dead Apostle's eyes widening with sudden, rather predatory interest.

'_A wind magus of such power exists in Area 11?' _thought Rolo Haliburton, contemplating his options. _'If I can capture her and discover her lineage, surely Master V.V. will be pleased—and perhaps I may gain a lead on the Witch's whereabouts as well.'_

Though he looked calm as ever, the Dead Apostle was really quite unhappy about the events of several nights ago, since the mysterious Burier who had attacked him had somehow managed to damage his Magic Circuit, a feat that he had thought all but impossible without Origin Bullets. And on top of that, his arm and fingers had not regenerated, forcing him to splice another body's parts onto his.

'_No matter, while I cannot use my Innate Time Control due to this issue, my vampiric skills should be more than enough to bring down this magus,' _the Dead Apostle sneered, pulling back just enough to avoid the slashes of his enemy—and to note the increase in magical energy around her left arm, where the blonde's Crest was no doubt concealed. _'And if I can get to my Origin Gun…'_

_Fsh!_

Reinforcing himself and his claws to withstand extreme force, Rolo suddenly lashed out at the magus, slicing down with demonic strength as if to rip out her heart.

_Clang!_

But the blonde was on guard against such a thing and blocked with her staff, knocking aside his arms so that her staff pressed against the vampire's abdomen.

"_**Air Strike!" **_she intoned, as blades of cutting wind were summoned in an instant, pulsing out from the miniature cyclone wrapped around her weapon to blow her opponent's torso apart, an attack so quick as to be nigh-unavoidable.

_Swish!_

A splatter of blood was the result, as the surging winds carved a furrow into Rolo's side as he blurred, evading the worst of it, as—

_Thu—Whirr! Thu—Whirr!_

Two ghouls hurled themselves onto Milly in a suicidal rush, the brief momentum transfer knocking her forward ever so slightly—with Rolo taking advantage of this to stab at her wrists, aiming for the two points where the wind of the staff and the wind barrier surrounding her body interfered with one another.

Sensing the danger, Milly used the wind to force herself forward and down, avoiding the vampire's deadly claws as she lands in a crouch at the level of Rolo's crotch and points upwards—

"_**Aero!"**_

—unleashing a distortion of wind to tear apart the assassin, bearing enough power to destroy everything in its path!

Rolo tried to evade, but it was too late, since he had already committed to an attack, so even as he tried to dodge, his nether regions vanished into bloody pulp, ripped to shreds as excruciating pain shot through him.

'_A human…a mere human did this to me?' _the Dead Apostle hissed inside his mind as he peeled himself from the wall just in time to avoid the section where he stood being blown to splinters. True, he could regenerate, but that didn't mean that his injuries didn't still hurt—or that regenerating from magical attacks wouldn't take longer than physical blows. _'Ghouls—attack en masse!'_

A swarming, writhing mass of flesh rushed at Milly, as dozens of vampiric familiars charged all at once to buy their master time, all aiming for a vital point or two, to get past her defenses to strike her shoulders.

'_Damnit, is there no end to these?' _the blonde thought, her staff slicing and whirling through the air as she decapitated ghoul after ghoul, sliced one familiar after another apart from hip to shoulder, blew more away with shockwaves. _'If I kill their master—!'_

Putting extra power into her legs, Milly sprang into the air, launching herself towards the Dead Apostle like a comet, the vortices of wind surrounding her body buzzing furiously as they carved up the portions of the hallway she passed.

_Thud!_

But faster than she could swing, Rolo ducked beneath the staff, reinforcing his right arm to the utmost as he thrust it towards the magus' torso, enduring the feeling of his arms being torn asunder by the violent barrier of wind, pushing, pushing, _pushing—_

'_There!'_

"_**Circuit Break!" **_Rolo snarled, a violent flux of power shooting through his mangled arm, through the tips of his claws into Milly Ashford's body, disrupting the action of her Magic Circuits—causing her wind barrier to falter for several seconds.

_Slash!_

In that window of opportunity, Rolo's other arm lashed out with such sharpness and speed that there wasn't even time for the Ashford magus to feel pain. Instead, as she fell backwards, the barrier reactivating, the blonde was horrified to see that her left arm did not come with her, as one ghoul after another slammed her into the ground.

'_You are young, but skilled for your apparent age,' _the Dead Apostle noted, grabbing the arm with the Crest and making his way over to the place where his gun had fallen. '_In every respect…truly a magus.'_

Which Rolo Haliburton was rather grateful for, given that magi were exactly what he had been trained to kill—dangerous prey, capable of feats beyond human due to their magecraft, but distinctly predictable. If one were to disrupt their Magic Circuits, they would be unable to use their spells, and become quite vulnerable.

'_Unlike that inhuman Burier who somehow matched my speed without magic—who my regeneration would not work against,_' Rolo recalled, intending to exact revenge on the one who had wounded him so, if the opportunity permitted.

But for now, the vampire simply walked across the killing field and retrieved his pistol, chambering a round as the Ashford magus surged to her feet, the wind around her howling, howling, howling as—

_Crack!_

—a single round was fired, piercing the air, piercing the wind—and passing through every layer of protection the Ashford had to slam into her gut.

'_What the—'_

That was all Milly had time to think, as every one of her Magic Circuits overloaded in a sudden blaze of light and heat, as if a thousand suns had caught flame inside her nerves, molten lightning destroying her body from the inside out, her mouth and limbs and body shuddering, thrashing, chattering uncontrollably as mana built up, overloaded, and discharged in fiery pulses inside her body, a torture from which there could be no escape.

For that was the true power of Rolo's Origin Bullets – specialized rounds of ammunition that imposed the twin origins of "severing" and "binding" into a target. Against a normal human who did not use magecraft, it permanently "killed" the area of the body by irreparably destroying the nerves and blood vessels in that area. But against a magus, it was perhaps the ultimate weapon, as "severing" and "binding" worked on Magic Circuits as well, causing a critical and fatal blowout of activated circuits, resulting in destroyed organs and a fried nervous system.

That was what Milly was experiencing now – the pure, unadulterated agony of overloading circuits—akin to what a magus activating her Circuit for the first time might feel but incomparably worse.

But through the pain, through the darkness that threatened to claim her, one thought lingered in the Ashford magus' mind.

'_He severed the arm with my Crest…before shooting me…he wants my Crest…'_

**

* * *

Saitama Ghetto, Area 11**

In the center of a field of slaughter, two figures clashed without any thought of mercy, any thought of retreat, coming together in a series of savage, brutal exchanges far beyond a normal human's to perceive, much less match. But then, this was only to be expected, as neither combatant was exactly human: one was a Sorceress whose humanity had long been eroded away by time, and the other was a demon-human hybrid on the verge of succumbing entirely to the more violent side of his ancestry—a demon-human hybrid piloting a mystically enhanced, technologically cutting edge Knightmare, no less.

'_Is he using some kind of powered armor?'_ Suzaku thought incredulously, making note of his opponent's ridiculously superhuman abilities as he jinked and juked his Knightmare as his carefully honed instincts bade him to do, escaping death by mere millimeters each time the enemy attacked—though a few of the enemy's…projectiles…had struck from unexpected angles, destroying one of the Lancelot's factspheres and damaging some of the Frame's control mechanisms. _'How Zero's moving…shouldn't be possible otherwise…'_

It was absurd, really—each time the devicer struck, attacking with his VARIS rifles or his Slash Harkens, the enemy was already in motion, seeming to predict his movements as Zero evaded the blows with nimble grace, launching strange silver projectiles in retaliation—projectiles moved more quickly than even the bullets he was used to, depleting the energy filler of his Knightmare as its Blaze Luminous shields struggled to block the oncoming streaks of silver light.

'_There has to be some way I can stop Zero,' _Suzaku mused, his thoughts racing as he kept up his evasions. _'Maybe if I cut off his ability to move…'_

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

In the running battle the two fought, five Slash Harkens arced from the Lancelot towards the ominous figure of Zero, though this time the rocket-propelled wire-guided projectiles were not aimed directly at the rebel, but fired off in a scatter meant to cut off the masked one's retreat as—

_Blam! Blam! Blam! _

—the Lancelot whirled, using both of its Variable Ammunition Repulsion Impact Spitfire (VARIS) Rifles to great effect, one launching a trio of blue particle blasts from at Zero's current position, while the other targeted the area immediately above, below, and to the right, a powerful salvo that slammed into the terrorist's current position against a wall—

_**BOOOM!**_

—enshrouding the area in dust as the building was blown apart, the ground rumbling as the walls of the structure crumbled as the air inside was instantly superheated by the energy of the violent discharges, sending up a cloud of dust, obscuring Suzaku Kururugi's sight.

Several tense seconds ticked by for the devicer as he checked his HUD for any signs that Zero could have possibly survived that assault. He knew that it was improbable, at best, and this time, had prevented the rebel from evading, so with all retreat cut off, with no way to defend against the overwhelming destructive power of the VARIS rifles, surely even the demonic Zero of rumors would fall to—

_Fsh! Crump!_

—but it seemed otherwise, as a silver streak shot out from the shroud of haze with extreme force, a Black Key aimed not at the Lancelot's head or torso, since previous attempts to attack the Knightmare directly had proven futile, but at one of the VARIS rifles in its hands, skewering it and—

_Fwoosh!_

—wreathing it in crimson flames, the immense heat quickly reducing the advanced weapon to nothing more than a piece of nigh useless metal slag—

'_Wha—no!'_

—slag which Private Kururugi hurled away by instinct in the direction from which the Black Key had issued, as the high-energy particles of the rifle, normally kept under containment by delicate control systems in the VARIS, destabilized, detonating in a molten azure blaze that overwhelmed his eyes, blowing away the remaining debris—

_**KABOOM!**_

—and wiping out everything within about 50 meters of the explosion as the Lancelot backpedaled furiously, managing to avoid the worst of it—though what remained after demolishing another two buildings adjacent to the road on which the two figures had fought still overloaded one of the Knightmare's Blaze Luminous generators.

'_Auugh..how did…—'_

"So, you managed to survive…an impressive feat, Suzaku Kururugi," a terribly familiar, somewhat metallic voice issued from the cloud of debris, a sudden chill cutting to the core of the Honorary Britannian's being. The voice should have been impossible, given the utter totality of the destruction, and yet… "Though I must disapprove of you attacking your savior in this fashion—for are our goals not the same?"

A scant instant later, the blinding light faded away, his eyes (and the factspheres of his Knightmare) adjusting to reveal the caped form of Zero standing in the very epicenter of the explosion—completely unscathed, with swirling torrents of crimson light flaring into a vaguely humanoid shape surrounding the rebel, holding for a moment before reverting to the form of a distinctive two pronged helical spear, a weapon which caused every instinct of the demon-hybrid to scream of looming death.

"You…you're wrong!" Suzaku seethed, as he caught sight of the unharmed rebel. "We are nothing alike, you murderer!"

With that, the Lancelot charged with all the speed it was capable of, its free arm drawing one of its maser vibration swords in one smooth motion, swinging the mighty blade with the full force of tons of metal as it screamed through the air—

_Clang!_

—and was parried, as the Sorceress in the guise of Zero darted forward to meet the Knightmare, form blurring as she flash-stepped ahead, her crimson lance sliding down the length of the advanced vibrosword—

_Crunch!_

—lopping off the offending metallic appendage that had dared to strike at her, even as her lance tore into the servos and electronics of the Lancelot's outstretched arm, nearly igniting the sakuradite within—

_Blam! Blam!_

—but not before Suzaku Kururugi brought the Lancelot's remaining VARIS rifle to bear on his attacker, unleashing a continuous torrent of blue particle fire at point blank range to wipe the masked one from existence!

'_Did I do it…?' _the devicer thought, panting as he kept the arms of his Knightmare up in case of retaliation—but surprisingly, none came, with the Honorary Britannian believing that Zero might finally be dead—

_Srcee!_

—that was, before he made the Lancelot duck forward due to a sudden flare of killing intent, as a lance of blood tore open the top of the Knightmare's cockpit from behind.

'_If I hadn't moved…'_

…he would have been killed, utterly and mercilessly struck down by the terrorist who had once saved his life.

"Since you yet live, let me offer you what you do your foes," Zero's voice intoned, the air seeming to tremble at the masked one's words. "A chance at unconditional surrender."

"I'll never surrender to a terrorist like you!"

Growling under his breath, Suzaku jerked the Lancelot forward and to the side as it whirled about, forcing Zero to release the lance, lest the masked one be dragged after the Knightmare—or so the Honorary Britannian thought, only to discover to his dismay that Zero had simply retracted the lance—

_Whoosh!_

—with the masked vigilante propelling "himself" towards the Knightmare with a sonic boom, a thundering shockwave registering as the lance was thrust out once again—

_Fzzt!_

—the green hexagons of the Blaze Luminous, the most powerful defense the Lancelot possessed, flaring to resist the intruding force, but—

_Clink!_

—failed, its crystallized light shattering before the Sorceress' unearthly weapon, as the lance struck home, tearing through armor with an ear-piercing screech as it struck home, skewering the Lancelot—devicer and all.

Or…that is to say, it would have, if Suzaku's demon instincts had not seized control momentarily, forcing him to jerk the Lancelot roughly backwards and to the right—a thoughtless, immediate reaction that ended up saving his life, with the lance "only" skewering the Knightmare's remaining factsphere and destroying the electronic connections between the Knightmare's body and it's recently replaced left arm, instead of destroying the cockpit.

"Oh, you won't will you?" C.C. shot back, a grim smile on her face under the mask she wore, as she was amused by the demon hybrid's protests. "And this coming from the one who murdered his father in cold blood? Who bears blood guilt for every single Japanese person slaughtered since the beginning of the occupation—an occupation you made possible? Who serves the ones who slaughtered your people, with knee-jerk obedience to the rules they created? _You_ are the murderer."

In the cockpit of the Lancelot, Suzaku paled at the terrorist's words, words which cut to the quick, as the echoed the dark voice in his mind, screaming _**guilty guilty guilty.**_

"No," the Honorary Britannian protested, though the words shook him too much to deny. "No. No. You're wrong—I'm not a murderer. I save people from dying. That's why I joined the army. So I could make change—"

_Crump!_

—he tried to attack with his Slash Harkens, lashing out against the taunting voice, but one by one, Zero cut them from the air, and so Suzaku was forced to retreat, pulling the Lancelot back, since it was effectively—

_Whirr-BOOM!_

—and now literally disarmed, his other VARIS rifle was ripped free of the frame by a tremendous impact, along with the only functional arm of his Knightmare, up to the elbow joint.

"Make change, you say?" the voice came again, silver streaks of light viciously striking down even as the devicer tried to avoid being skewered time and time again, just barely managing it due to instincts that were not quite his own. "And how would you do that, Honorary Britannian? How will you make change in a system that is so corrupt, so steeped in tradition that it sees people like you as cannon fodder? Tell me, Suzaku Kururugi, how many lives have you saved by your reprehensible means? And how much blood is on your hands, murderer?"

_Scree!_

Once again, the screech of tearing metal as one of the Lancelot's legs were sliced from the frame, with the ungainly mass of the prototype Knightmare crashing into the ground as it lost support, the torso skidding, skidding, skidding in a shower of sparks along the ruins as—

_BAM!_

—it came to a halt as it slammed into a building, stone and brick, metal girders and concrete blocks raining down upon the reinforced metal of the experimental Knightmare Frame, which barely—barely—survived, with the pilot escaping the wreck through the shorn off top of the cockpit, pushing his body to its limits as he dug himself out from the debris, clawing upwards with strength he didn't know he possessed.

'_What the hell is Zero, to cause all this? Why…why did he kill so many…?'_

Thoughts froze he broke free, only to see that the area he was in was bathed in blood, with innumerable corpses scattered about his feet—soldiers and civilians alike, all with their faces frozen in a mask of terror.

"You're wrong, Suzaku Kururugi," a voice spoke from behind him, as the figure of Zero approached slowly, one step at a time, the two-pronged crimson spear screaming of danger as the masked one strode forward almost casually in the killing field. "I didn't kill the civilians, simply the soldiers, exacting justice for crimes. Their deaths were…necessary."

"Necessary? No…no…this isn't justice. What you did is nothing more than slaughter!" Suzaku objected, even as glazed over eyes stared at him, condemning him for not being able to save them, for allowing them all to die, and betraying his purpose. "Senseless…senseless…senseless…"

_Squelch!_

Suzaku looked down uncomprehendingly to find the handle of a jet-black sword protruding from his chest, with petrifaction setting in from the point of impact, the Honorary Britannian staggering backwards as he looked between the nonsensical wound and Zero.

'_What the…'_

"Fool with a death wish…do you really believe that dying would be enough to atone for your crimes? That your one life is equal in worth to all those that you have ruined in your selfish hypocrisy?" the masked warrior asked, voice perfectly even as it condemned him. "But I will grant you the mercy you show your enemies, Kururugi. Drown in your ideals…and _die_."

_Squelch!_

A second sword pierced his gut, and—

_Caw! Caw! Caw!_

—with the harsh cawing of crows, a vortex of black wings descended from the sky around the hapless demon hybrid, beaks piercing, ripping out eyes, tearing flesh, devouring blood, seeking to erase him from existence.

**Spinning. Spinning. Spinning spinning the world is spinning.**

The voice which he had shoved into the back of his mind screamed under the weight of the accusations hurled at him, ones he could not refute, yet did not want to accept, could not accept for the sake of his sanity.

'_No…its not wrong. I'm not mistaken. I just wanted to save people. I…'_

**Melting wall. Restraint broken. Auguries of Destruction. Self that is denied no more. DESTROY DESTROY DESTROY DESTROY. THE ACCUSER MUST BE DESTROYED.**

The constrained impulse welled up from within, breaching through carefully wrought barriers of denial and identity, as—

**Craters of the moon. Bloodstained hands. Still beating heart clutched in child-like fingers. Mangled pulp of organs. Bloody Smile.**

A savage, primal urge telling him to…

**KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL OR BE KILLED. YOU MUST KILL. YOU MUST KILL. YOU MUST…**_**KILL!**_

"Yes…it wouldn't be wrong," the soldier said to himself, whispering it in an attempt to reassure himself, the rage in his heart telling him to give in, to embrace the power dormant within him and use it to destroy the inhuman enemy before him—the one who was stripping away the layers of denial in his mind, the repressions he had made. "To kill the murderer…to kill Zero…it wouldn't be a mistake."

"_**AUUUGHHHHHHHHH!"**_

A bestial roar tore from his throat, as a surge of demonic power rippled from his body, reducing the crows feasting on his flesh to lumps of bloody meat, reversing the petrifaction the Black Key had forced upon him, with C.C. taking an involuntary step backwards as her mystic eyes perceived a strange cloak of orange mana surrounding the Honorary Britannian—that which was within now without, that which was without within.

'Necrosis Rejection, is it? So, on the brink of death the demon awakens, reaching the borderline of Crimson Red Vermillion,' the Sorceress noted clinically, somewhat amused at the irony of the hybrid evoking the power of a demon to fight what he perceived as a demon. 'Your inhuman nature as a killing machine awakens—and so I will bring you peace.'

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Three silver swords materialized in C.C.'s free hand, swords that she flung like bullets, flying in silver streaks unerringly for the sniper's triangle of the demon—that was, the triangle defined by his chin, and his two pectorals—

Fzzt!

—but the swords were repelled in a flare of power as the demon shot forward faster than sound itself, arm thrusting out to smash Zero aside with the superhuman strength of an implacable berserker, a blow that would have punched through the Sorceress' chest, had she not reinforced herself at the last possible moment, though as it was, she was still knocked aside, hurled into a pile of debris with the enemy after her in a heartbeat, the overwhelming, unreasoning rage the demon exuded making the air thick and heavy, making him more intimidating by leagues.

_Wham!_

C.C. stood up just in time to see a spinning kick aimed at her torso—a kick from a leg wreathed in corrosive toxic mana, no less—which she bent backwards to avoid—though she was not able to avoid the massive shockwave following the attack that shredded the ground beneath her, startling her just long enough for the demon's other foot to come around in an equally fast sweep meant to obliterate her skull—

_Fsh!_

—but it missed, for C.C.'s reflexes, sharply honed through millennia of experience in battle, allowed her to flash-step out of the way, recalling to her hands the two-pronged spear of blood that she had dropped, and reshaping it into a shield of sorts—

_Clang!_

—just in time to block another would-be fatal blow from the inverted demon hybrid, with the berserker's mana-wreathed firsts slamming into a flickering red hexagonal barrier, one that C.C. _pushed—_

"_**NUAHHHHAAAAAA!"**_

—throwing Kururugi's demon form into the air as he screamed with a primal fury, though when he landed, he didn't so much crash as land squarely on all four limbs, a cloud of masonry dust marking where he had fallen.

Though he wasn't still for long, as seeming wrath personified, the demon leapt towards Zero with a single-minded intent: to rend the revolutionary limb from limb, and thus quiet the screaming voice within his own soul.

"What is this? You want to atone for the act of murder, by an act of murder?"the Grey Witch muttered to herself, as she fell back, the runes of strength and speed engraved on her clothing flaring up as she drew strength from them, allowing her to sustain her barrier as the vengeful spirit struck, the corrosive cloak of energy around him eroding the weapons forged of the life energy of her enemies. "Such speed and power…is he the equal of a Ghost Liner? Will I have to unseal my more potent abilities after all?"

She certainly hoped not, since unsealing her higher abilities would be a dead giveaway of her location to any other Sorcerers – something she could not countenance at the moment.

'_Well then, I'll just have to finish this…' _the Witch thought, leaping backwards with the full strength granted to her by reinforcement—

_WHOOM!_

—the barrier reshaped into a more offensive form, a shockwave of red-tinged daggers which cannonaded towards the berserker from all sides, all angles—weapons forged of mana to penetrate a cloak of mana—an attack with no other purpose but to kill.

"_**GWYOAAAOOOOO!"**_

Fsh!

—the demon retreated hastily as something came at him from behind, with streaks of light savaging him from all sides, forcing to break off him attack. The salvo of missiles came from all angles some approaching straight on, some curving, some from above, some from the sides, some from behind—

Sensing the overwhelming danger of the attack—an attack that would most likely kill him if he didn't do anything to stop it, the demonic-form of Suzaku Kururugi fell back with all possible speed, the power in his mana cloak increasing exponentially as his limbs blurred, arms, legs, body blurring as he attacked the weapons rather than simply trusting his defenses, knocking them away with the manifestation of his materialized anger.

_Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

But as he blocked the immediate threat, three silver streaks shot towards—no, not towards him, but—

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

—into the ground around him, pinning his shadow and freezing him in mid-movement.

A mad howl tore from the berserker's throat as he found himself paralyzed, unable to move, his eyes fastening on how the myriad blood daggers seemed to dissolve, fading into a thousand strands of madder light that streamed back towards the masked figure of Zero, who smirked coldly under her mask at the demon's futile—if amusing—efforts to free himself, an eerie blood red lance about 2 meters long forming in her hands.

'_And with this, Kururugi, it ends. For against this, your defenses are meaningless…__**Gae Dea—**__'_

_KABOOM!_

—but she was unable to invoke the true name of the Noble Phantasm she conjured, returning it to barrier form as the ground erupted with explosions as missiles, bombs, incendiary weapons, and other heavy ordinance rained down from a massive aerial armada from above.

For the forces under the command of Lt. Colonel Fayer had finally arrived on the scene, and their orders were to burn Saitama off the face of the earth in a seeming nod to Princess Cornelia's glassing of the desert. No doubt, Zero and his cohorts would try to flee, and that was why a perimeter of Knightmares had been maintained—for if the enemy attempted to break out, they would be mercilessly cut down. And as any of their own caught in the bombardment—well, those were just the casualties of war.

Or so the Knight of Ten, Luciano Bradley, thought to himself as he watched the spectacle of fiery destruction play out from his mobile command center, a low, dangerous laugh falling from his lips as he played with a knife in his hands.

'_That's right Zero…' _the Vampire of Britannia mused in utter satisfaction. _'In the end, even you fall victim to the rules of this most dangerous game…'_

"Once the bombardment is over, ready my Knightmare," Bradley ordered, a psychotic smirk on his face. "I want to witness the result of the destruction…personally."

**

* * *

Chiyoda Ghetto**

In contrast to the struggles in Saitama, a rather more conventional battle was being waged in Chiyoda, where the Black Knights were fighting for their lives against the Britannian Army—with the troops being sent against them here not cannon fodder, but above-average combatants capable of holding their own against most enemies.

True, the initial attack had gone well, with a transport full of Sutherlands misdirected for the use of the Black Knights, thanks to some clever assassinations and replacements of on-duty devicers with some of C.C.'s specialized puppets—but the element of surprise had long worn off, and now Kallen Kozuki and her comrades were finding themselves up against increasingly bad seeming odds, as fresh squadrons of Knightmares took the field under competent leadership, and VTOLs began strafing attacks from above.

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

Tracers of light and fire lanced out across the field as Knightmare assault cannons on both sides belched obscene amounts of lead.

'_Damnit…how many of these Britannians are there?'_ Kallen thought to herself, as her armaments began to run low on ammunition, resorting to her Slash Harkens to cut down yet enemy Sutherland—or was it a Glasgow? Either way, there were too damn many of them…

"Q-1, lead them to the center of the map," a voice crackled over the radio, with the flame magus acknowledging it tiredly.

"Copy that, Kage-1," the redhead replied, shaking her head as—

_BOOM!_

—one of the trio of Knightmare assigned to her fell victim to a suicidal VTOL, the gunship plummeting and destroying the Sutherland in an intense fireball that had brought combat to a momentary halt—though not before Kallen managed to hurl her Chaos Mines at a group of enemy footsoldiers and armored vehicles, the shrapnel released from those oversized fragmentation grenades killing most of them instantly.

'_Combat is more than just a numbers game, but numbers sure help,' _the flame magus thought, rather cynically, as she throttled her Knightmare forward. _'Then again, we were outnumbered in Shinjuku, and we still managed to win. Too bad Lelouch isn't there this time, though at least that White Knightmare isn't anywhere to be seen.'_

All things considered, that was not a small consideration—though Kallen did wonder where that Knightmare was, and what poor soul had to fight it, considering the raw power of that experimental prototype.

'_But I don't have luxury to think about other things…maybe C.C. does, or Lelouch, but I don't…'_

A pause, as she spotted a squad of Knightmares inbound—but these weren't just any Knightmares.

"…just what I needed," Kallen groaned, wheeling her Knightmare about to face the enemy and engaging her Stun Tonfas. "Gloucesters."

The name of the enemy model came out almost as a curse, which was none-too-surprising, given how powerful those frames were, specializing in anti-Knightmare tactics.

"Don't worry, I've got this!" a brash, hot-blooded voice called over the radio, as one of the Sutherlands under Black Knight control broke formation—

_Crack-a-crack-a-crack!_

—breaking right as he opened fire, strafing the approaching enemies.

"P-7, fall back to point 6!" the voice of Sayoko Shinozaki ordered over the radio, but her words went unheeded, as the Sutherland continued its charge, an armored hand slipping into the ammunition sleeve and picking up a chaos mine.

One of the squadrons, however, felt they knew how to handle a single swerving enemy: with entrapment tactics, as the four Gloucesters split up in all directions to prevent being hit, breaking right, breaking left, one jumping in the air as their landspinners whirred with speed, circling to prevent him from being able to focus on any one target.

Or at least that was the theory, as the four Knightmares rushed in with superior mobility, their heavy lances thrusting out from all directions to—

_Whoosh! Thunk!_

—penetrate the Knightmare's torso right after the cockpit had ejected, their lances stuck for a moment as—

"Fall back! Fall back now!" came a frantic cry.

—but it was too late, as the Sutherland blew itself to smithereens, every one of its Chaos Mines erupting at once, breaking open and unleashing a storm of molten projectiles that carved through the Gloucesters that had attacked it—the spikes on their long lances proving a liability as they were unable to pull back in time.

The pilot didn't get away unscathed though, as VTOL shot down his escape pod, killing him instantly.

'_Damn, Tamaki's down…why do you always pull a Leeroy Jenkins?'_

Around Chiyoda, the battle continued to rage, as in the sky above, a sound like distant thunder was heard…

**

* * *

Lake Kawaguchi**

To a magus, pain was a constant companion, as was the specter of death at any moment. But as Milly Ashford had been taught from her childhood, it was necessary to accept these things to do one's duty—which was the only reason she was able to remain_—barely—_conscious now, even as her vision gave out, her muscles spasming in her body from mismatched signals firing in overloaded nerves, her heart beat slowing, body itself in critical condition, on the brink of death from the catastrophic blowout of her Magic Circuits.

'_Even if I somehow survive, I'll never be a magus again…'_

It was a rather disheartening thought, since a magus was all she really knew how to be—and her duty as one was all that was keeping her alive, keeping her struggling, groping to remain conscious.

'No matter what happens, I cannot allow myself to be captured by the enemy…or my Crest, for that matter, since either of those could expose the fact that I am an Ashford, putting everyone under my protection at risk,' the blonde reflected grimly, sorting out her thoughts and what she had to do. 'If it was just me, I wouldn't mind, but with everyone at Ashford Academy in danger…'

She didn't have a choice, for in the end, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. That was the philosophy of a magus, especially a magus in exile, accepting the necessity of death—even the death of self, if need be. Thus, there was one, forbidden spell implanted in the Ashford Crest, one that would automatically activate at the moment the bearer's lifesigns faded to nothingness—or if the bearer triggered it, verbally or mentally.

'_But it's not attached to me now, so…'_

It would have to be verbally, Milly realized, struggling to make her mouth—much less her throat—obey her, letting her shape the words she wanted.

"_**Code…"**_ she managed, as ghouls renewed their assault, ripping and tearing at her flesh. "_**Tyr…fing In…**_"

Near the elevator, Rolo looked up from the severed arm he was working on, wondering if a simple transplant would do, or if he would have to extract the Crest and implant it into him—which would be rather more complicated. Either way, it was probably time to make good his departure, as no doubt missiles would soon be on their way.

"…_**voke: "**_

Feeling a sudden hum of magical energy from within the Crest, Rolo's instincts prickled at premonition of danger:

"Crush her throat!" he ordered

"_**Ultima Bomb!" **_the final words came out in a rush, an audible whine piercing the air as the Thaumaturgical Crest flared with power one last time—

"Oh shi—"

_**KABOOM!**_

—and detonated in a violent mana bomb designed to take the enemy with it, the power exploding outwards in a plume of force that incinerated most of Rolo's body with its power, leaving behind a fried husk that he would not be able to regenerate from easily, but most importantly, denying him the use of the Crest, its alien power interfering with his native abilities.

Even so, the upper part of Rolo's body and head remained, with the remnant crawling to the elevator doors, desiring to make good his escape—or at least to transplant his consciousness to another body.

'_Another body…one of the Britannian girls is still alive…'_

The orangette, apparently, whose body hadn't been too badly damaged by the explosion, considering that Rolo had caught the brunt of it.

'_If I hurry, I can…'_

_Ding!_

What remained of Rolo looked up uncomprehendingly as the elevator doors opened with a deceptively cheerful chime, with a hooded figure stepping out, a bloody sword in hand, staring at the vampire with piercing golden eyes.

'_What the…'_

Rolo never got the chance to finish his thought, as a sliver slash split his head in two, with a second cleaving off his arms, and a third piercing his heart.

"Fufufu…" the new arrival cackled. "_**Burn."**_

A crown of light burst forth from where the blade met the ground, with the remains of Rolo Haliburton at its center, forming a hemispherical barrier, as golden flames danced down the barrier, releasing their heat within—burning, searing, cleansing all within in a superheated sphere of flame, reducing the Dead Apostle's form to nothingness as he screamed for mercy—and received every last bit he was due.

That was to say: none.

_Whoosh!_

The primary job finished, the figure looked around for other…targets, _blurring _ into motion as her terrible swift sword struck down one wraith, then another, reducing them to naught to but ash.

One-two-five-ten-twenty…blood splattering everywhere as…

—abruptly, it was over, the flames going out, with the enigmatic figure flicking her blade once to get rid of the blood upon it, before sheathing it—into what seemed like a broom that she had strapped to the back of her form-concealing cloak. Peeling the hood back to reveal a head of red hair and a blood-splattered face, the mysterious swordswoman looked around, trying to see if there were any survivors, and finding …

"Hmm…is it like this for you when you kill, Shiki-san?" she murmured, surveying the scene of carnage. Surprisingly, the blonde-haired Britannian whose mana signature was literally everywhere on this floor was somehow still clinging to life. "Still alive, I see. Her circuits are destroyed, so she'll never be a magus again, but if I treat her quickly, she might live, albeit with a disability or two. Fufufu…I don't know how strong she is, or what she knows, but one can never have too many pawns…or too much information. At the very least, it will be an interesting gamble, seeing if I can cheat death...again."

A red syringe and a blue syringe she retrieved from her cloak, injecting the girl with both—a mix of her own design to send the other into a magically-induced coma to preserve what she could of her higher brain functions. As a member of the Demon Hunter Organization, even if she was originally from a disgraced branch family, it would be wise to examine a survivor for information on what kind of enemy she faced, after all-and this individual might be her best chance...

Nodding to herself, the redhead unslung her broomstick and held it upright, pulling out a certain Kaleidostick from the obi of her kimono and inserting it into a slot in the handle of her broomsword, as prismatic energies flashed through it.

"_**Initiate flight mode,"**_ she ordered…and for a wonder, the Kaleidostick obeyed without a word, almost as if terrified of the strange mind it had possessed.

With that, Kohaku Fujou picked up the unconscious form of Milly Ashford and sat down upon her broomstick, willing it to fly, surging forward through the hole that the magus had previously opened in the hotel out in the rainy sky, and towards an unknown destination.

Sometime later, the cruise missiles hit, and the hotel and all left behind vanished in a fiery conflagration, collapsing into water, stone, and rubble.

**

* * *

Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 70_

To Lelouch Lamperouge's great surprise as he departed the scene of his battle against the flame magus Azaka Kokutou, no further attacks upon his person were forthcoming. But while he might be relieved by this under normal circumstances, since his trainers simply loved to target him as the weaker between himself and his training partner, the exile felt instead a certain level of anxiety, given the almost frantic expression on Mana's face when she had told him to run.

'_I've never seen her look like that before…' _ Lelouch thought to himself, somewhat disturbed by it now that he had had some time to think. _'Flustered, yes, vulnerable once or twice, but never frantic, as if she was caught off balance…'_

Strangely enough, though the magus knew that there was likely no reason for it, since the Satsujinki could take care of herself far better than he could in a combat situation—it made him worry, enough to dull the pleasure he felt in finally having won a victory over one of his trainers. Not the succubus, unfortunately, but given his track record so far, he'd take what he could get.

A simple, plaintive _meow _broke him from his thoughts, with Lelouch turning warily towards the source of the sound to see a rather familiar figure falling into step beside him: small girl with flowing blue hair, clad in a black dress and winter coat, with a great black bow in her hair, holding a somewhat oversized bundle in her arms.

'_Ah…the other Ren,' _the exile thought rather dryly, shaking his head at the fact that hadn't noticed her approach. _'I would wager that the Wizard Marshal sent her for some reason.'_

"Can I help you with something?" the Black Prince said in his smooth baritone.

"…"

To his utter lack of surprise, silence was the young girl's reply, though she did glance down at the bundle in her arms, holding it out to the magus.

"You want me to take this?" Lelouch asked in confirmation, not wanting to commit an unwitting _faux pas_ against someone who had only helped him in the past. It was the black-clad succubus that had healed him when he really needed it.

The young girl gave a simple nod, holding out the package once more for the magus to take. This time, the exile didn't hesitate, simply taking the cloth-wrapped bundle from her—and nearly sagging as he did, since it proved to be heavier than he was expecting.

'…_right, since White Ren can reinforce herself, I'd assume the other was capable of the same…'_

"Thank you," Lelouch murmured, nodding his head to the girl in black, who simply curtseyed in response before shape-shifting back into cat form and turning to go. "One question, though…"

The black cat halted, turning back to see what the magus wanted.

"…will there be any more attacks today?" the exile inquired, figuring that it couldn't hurt to ask.

Ren merely shook her head, looking at Lelouch to see if there was anything else he desired.

"Thank you, you have been quite helpful," the Lamperouge magus commented, acknowledging what she had done for him in the past, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "You are certainly much nicer than your counterpart…"

"…"

A blank stare, as if the black cat was trying to say _'thanks for stating the obvious', _making it rather clear that the two succubi didn't quite get along – something that Lelouch had surmised for some time—before scampering off at last, leaving the magus alone.

'_Well, I should probably head to the rendezvous point then, since Mana will most likely be waiting for me…' _the magus reflected, grateful for the confirmation that there would be no further attacks for the day, given that trying to defend himself while his arms were full would most likely prove difficult, if not entirely futile. He already had to deal with hampered navigation, since some of the skyline had apparently collapsed earlier in the day, something which was playing havoc with the ancient spell-strands woven through the city.

Still, Lelouch vi Britannia was not called a genius for nothing, and so after some time, he managed to make his way to rendezvous point K2, a half-buried crypt of sorts built under what appeared to be a functional monumental sound sculpture at some point in the past—one of three major sculptures still standing in the city.

'_I wonder if it had a religious significance…' _the magus wondered, as he descended the stairs into the main chamber of the facility, which he found to be relatively spacious—and quite comfortable temperature-wise. _'And all without magecraft or advanced technology – perhaps they were just better at building in accordance with the environment?'_

Setting the bundle down in the main chamber, Lelouch proceeded to make a basic survey of the premises, making sure to set up trap spells to prepare a defensive perimeter in case of a night attack. Since there was some moisture in the air, it was easy enough to use a water element ward or two, which would at least alert him to the presence of intruders.

'_Though in time, I'm sure I will become somewhat more proficient…'_ he thought to himself.

When the magus finally got around to opening the bundle, he found that it contained two replacement cloaks/blankets, some basic first-aid materials, a new kimono, some ration packs, a letter addressed to Mana, and what appeared to be—

'_Two piping-hot pan pizzas in an insulation pouch?"_

This last item caused Lelouch's mouth to water quite a bit, as after over a week of ration packs, fresh food was much appreciated.

'_But I really should wait for Mana…' _the exile decided, reminding himself that it would simply be good manners to do so. _'After all, she should be here by now…'_

With little to do for the moment, Lelouch Lamperouge left the bundle in the main chamber and decided to get some fresh air, going up the stairs and out into the city above, leaning against the wall, as the building behind him hummed with many various melodies, mist receding slightly as day gave way to dusk gave way to moonrise.

It was strange, really, how the darkness of the night sky stood out just as much as the darkness below, though the constellations and stars above glittering like jewels seemed…well, _foreign, _to Lelouch.

'_No surprise, given that the one who preserved this set of ruins is apparently as master of parallel worlds…' _he mused idly, his attention drawn to the watery moon hanging overhead…and a figure in white making her way slowly down the road, not quite walking as much as stalking like some dangerous predator in the night, or perhaps even like the Reaper was said to. _'But then again, given who it is…'_

Lelouch smiled softly for a moment, though his smile melted away into a look of concern as he saw that the figure's left arm was, well…missing, one long sleeve of her kimono stained with the reddish-brown of dried blood.

Part of him wanted to get up and see if his partner needed help, but as the thought crossed his mind, the Satsujinki caught his eye, shaking her head slightly.

And so it was that, slowly, gracefully, Mana Ryougi came up alongside her training partner, glancing back at the moon behind her.

"The moon," she said without preamble, "is a void in this darkness - a hole in the black canvas known as the night sky. Not really a mirror of the sun, but a view of the other side."

"Oh?" Lelouch murmured quietly, knowing better than to say too much when the assassin seemed to be in a strangely fey mood.

"Yes…it is said that the moon is a gate to another world…the moonlit world," Mana continued, allowing herself to turn about and lean on the wall beside the exile. "Or so it was said in the house of the Ryougi."

They remained like that, watching the moon for several minutes in silence, before—

"Are you alright?" Lelouch said at last, mentally kicking himself as he asked. Of course Mana couldn't be alright…she lost an arm after—

"You mean the arm?" Mana quipped, glancing down at the bloody sleeve of her kimono. "It's not the first time this has happened…though needing another one will be quite a nuisance. Touko is no doubt going to nag, as might Azaka…"

"Azaka?" Lelouch echoed, the name of the person he fought earlier in the day coming to mind. "You don't mean Azaka Cocteau?"

"Kokutou," Mana corrected, correcting the slightly-off pronunciation, thought she lifted an eyebrow as the query sunk in. "You fought her, I take it?" Then her expression sharpened. "Did you win? You don't _seem_ burned to a crisp…"

Her last sentence seemed almost playful, if also a jab at his capabilities—something which she had not done in quite a while, causing Lelouch to double-take.

'_In spite of her injuries, she seems to be in a positive mood, which I doubt would be the case had she lost…'_

"Maybe," Lelouch shot back sardonically, as the two met one another's eyes for an instant, before looking away. "…so if you look like that, do I want to know what happened to your opponent?" His expression softened for a moment as he recalled the frantic look on Mana's face back in the tunnels. "Or why you seemed so unsettled earlier?"

"Don't tell me you were worried about me, L.L…" the Satsujinji quipped wryly.

"We are partners of a sort, right?" the Lamperouge magus returned in the same tone, receiving a small nod. "So I'm just returning the favor, since you did tell me to run…which I did appreciate, as I would not doubt have been a liability otherwise. What did I do wrong that we were discovered?"

Mana shook her head with a sigh, her expression guarded as she turned away to face the moon once more, as if addressing the void in the sky.

"So we are…and you didn't mess up this time. It was me," she said, slightly piqued at the admission. "Or rather, my eyes…and the bit of light they cast in the darkness. One of our trainers has clairvoyance, meaning that she can see through things…"

"…and so she focused on your eyes, which is why you told me to run," Lelouch filled in, thinking back to that afternoon and an unanswered question. "Speaking of which, you never did answer my question from earlier?"

"Yes?"

"Is there anything you can't kill?"

Another somewhat touchy subject, but one that Mana knew that her partner was within his bounds to ask.

"Everything in existence has an imperfection," the raven-haired Chokushi no Magan adept said at last, choosing her words with care. "Humans and other living things, especially, but also stone, air, will—even time. Anything that has a beginning has an end…an end that my eyes can see. So I can kill anything that lives—even gods, should they exist."

The two were silent for a while this time, as Mana didn't feel like elaborating, while Lelouch didn't quite know how to respond. He remembered all too well when they had first met, and how she had seemed a blood-splattered, beautiful grim reaper, as she seemed on this odd night under the moon.

"It must be a very lonely existence…" Lelouch commented at last, his voice soft and measured befitting the mood. "Like that of a dreamer drifting in a void…or living on the surface of the moon."

"A rather apt metaphor," was the understated response, as Mana looked over at her training partner appraisingly. "But then, I suppose you do have something of way with words."

A moments more, then…

"Are you hungry? The other Ren—the one in black, not the sadistic one—gave me a bundle on my way here, with the Witch's favorite dish."

Lelouch thought it best not to bring up the first aid, or cleaning her wounds till later on, as it wasn't the right time.

"Don't tell C.C. I said this, but pizza sounds excellent at the moment," Mana replied, a dark chuckle escaping her lips at the thought of how the immortal would react. "Then again, any fresh food sounds excellent after a week of ration packs. Wouldn't you agree, Lelouch?"

"I'll drink to that."

"Not that we have anything to drink, save water," the Satsujinki pointed out, as the two glanced at one another again and smiled ever so briefly, before turning as one and heading side by side down into the sanctuary, some of their many tensions and frustrations assuaged by the subtle intoxication of long sought, hard fought victory.

* * *

**A/N**: A little later than I thought this would come out, to be sure. Anyway, next chapter will see the final days of Mana and Lelouch's training exercise, the aftermath of Saitama, the conclusions of Chiyoda and Shinjuku, and a few other...surprises. Thanks for reading, and reviews are of course, highly appreciated.


	20. Libera Me

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to elements of the Code Geass franchise, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 71_

To those earning the dubious pleasure of seeing the sundered metropolis in person, the remains of Arche Koeln seemed but a colossal wreck, a collection of battle-scarred, lifeless ruins isolated in the midst of mist-shrouded badlands. Walking through the broken thoroughfares of the ancient city's remnants by day only reinforced that impression, as where elegant spires and monuments had once reached untrammeled towards the sky, buildings across which sunlight and wind played to create euphonious tones, all that remained were scattered stones humming deeply dissonant melodies, melancholic arias laced and interspersed with the lingering echoes of magecrafts and True Magics fueled by violent emotions in an age long vanished from memory and time.

Nighttime was far more disconcerting, for without the artificial lighting most modern city dwellers were accustomed to, the nigh-absolute darkness was broken only by the pinpricks of illumination afforded by the stars—illumination scattered and diffused by the swirls of the all-concealing mist that cloaked the region, as an exhausted Lelouch vi Britannia had had the misfortune to discover the first time he stood watch as his training partner slept in their hidden camp. But while Lelouch had found the totality of the nighttime gloom rather jarring at first glance, he soon adapted to it, making use of the long hours of darkness to hone his senses and muse upon different strategies.

Tonight, the magus-in-training was being particularly vigilant, knowing that the probability of a nighttime attack was higher than ever due to his trainers' projected reaction to his earlier "victory" – one that he had snatched from his enemies with trickery and the element of surprise, since no one had anticipated his use of the Unified Language.

'_The ultimate technique for hypnosis and control, which none can resist—save those who are also Masters of Babel or are linked to said Masters. But of course, against most strong-minded individuals, it only works once…' _

So C.C. had told him in during one of his early training sessions with the Sorceress, where she had explained the specifics of the gift she had given him, and what it would take for him to reach what he sought: the power to reshape the world.

"_You have potential and a reason for living, but be forewarned…" _the Grey Witch had said, her voice unusually solemn as she regarded the black-haired exile slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "_The path you have chosen is fraught with pain, humiliation, and the promise of endless toil for little reward. Are you prepared?"_

"_What do you think…witch?"_ he had replied, earning him a penetrating stare and a single raised eyebrow—moment before physical training began in earnest once again, the air ringing with sound and fury.

It was no choice at all, really. From the moment Lelouch Lamperouge accepted a contract with the Sorceress in White, the exile knew that there was no turning back, even if it should lead him into the depths of hell itself. For whatever might come, it was better than being a powerless corpse wasting away in a gilded cage, while crows and pigeons picked at fallen hopes and shattered dreams.

So he had reminded himself during the months of brutal instruction in the time-compressed training areas provided by the Second Magician (where lessons in magecraft and different combat techniques had been literally beaten into his body), where the Lamperouge scion had gained some powers as a magus—enough, at least, to defend himself in magical combat.

While he was nowhere near as adept in this as say, Milly, who had been trained in the magical arts since she was five, or Kallen, whose powers, while simpler, were better suited to a combat specialist (to say nothing of White Ren or Mana Ryougi, whose skills and overwhelming battle experience gave them quite an edge), he didn't need to be. More than personal strength or skill alone, the outcome of most battles relied on cunning, guile, strategy, taking into account such vagaries as elemental affinities, the nature of the battlefield, and the compatibilities of various powers.

'—_which I know only all too well, thanks to my sessions with the succubus,'_ Lelouch thought, grimacing as he remembered the myriad embarrassments which he had suffered—and all that he had learned because of those.

How various spells _felt _when cast, the distinctive echoes as mana was shaped into strands of magecraft to alter the world; how to open and close his Circuit with ease—and to cast some of the spells his opponent had used (it was, after all, how he had learned the majority of his spells); how to see past the layers of deception an opponent might weave, probing past the obvious, past the hidden, to the truth; and most importantly, how to hold out against a foe who considerably outmatched him by manipulating—and disrupting—the flow of battle.

The principle of flow control was rather straightforward, and familiar, to boot—it was how he managed to win chess games as a replacement player: using his appearance, attitude, and unconventional moves to jar the opponent out of a flow state. In chess, just as in combat, most tended to stick to different patterns to ensure victory—patterns that one could predict, counter, interrupt, so that what began as an enemy's coordinated offensive splintered, overextending or leaving fatal openings, until at last, even a superior starting position could end in a total defeat.

Simple enough, though applying it in combat was a different matter, as flow control demanded the synchronization of situational awareness and knowledge of one's opponent with one's abilities to perceive, react, redirect and deceive, using any means necessary to obtain victory.

'_After all, one cannot argue with results,'_ Lelouch mused, acutely aware of the lithe form of the one-armed Satsujinki slumbering next to him in the darkness, her sleeping face seemingly vulnerable and unaware of all around her, though every now and then a troubled expression would mar her features. While he knew that the vulnerability was a lie, since his companion was capable of being quite lethal instants after waking—and she stirred from sleep at the first sign of danger—it was still an image hard to reconcile with the controlled, unreadable visage she projected during the day._ 'It's an idle thought, but I wonder what she dreams about…'_

Were the mind of the magus currently inhabiting his body, his thoughts, coupled with the proximity of his companion would have no doubt brought an involuntary flush to his face, but as it was, his consciousness was elsewhere, flitting from the stones of the crypt and the monumental sound sculpture above it, to the ground and the mist in the general vicinity as he remained vigil for any sign of movement in the silent city.

As of late, he'd taken to "standing watch" in incorporeal form, working on possessing the terrain and getting better suited to it, since this afforded him much more information than simply going out in person. While he might have been worried about something happening to his body while his mind was away, Lelouch figured that his physical form was safe enough sleeping next to that of the Satsujinki, and that if anything happened to disturb it, his consciousness would snap back to his flesh nigh-instantly.

'_The moon has set, and today has already become tomorrow,' _Lelouch thought rather wryly, as his senses, relayed through stone and mist, reached outwards into the darkness. While the kinder black-clad version of Ren had informed him that there would be no more attacks 'today' – _'that is, yesterday'_—the midnight hour had already passed. _'And given the outcome of our fights the day before, White Ren will no doubt come at us seriously, intending to bring about a reversal of fortunes…'_

It was what he would do, were he in her position, considering that most people were surprisingly vulnerable in the wake of hard-won victory, drunk on the belief that they were safe for the moment, that no further threats awaited them. Thus, having spent themselves fighting against the enemy they knew, they made the mistake of letting down their guard against the one they did not—and all too often, paid the price for their carelessness, with simple attacks that would hardly have fazed them, simple trial that they had easily withstood in the past, seeds of doubt that had once been put out of mind without a thought—proving fatal.

The most notable example of this was the case of Alexander the Great, one of the greatest conquerors in history. Having conquered all he could, forging a mighty empire that stretched from Greece all the way to the Indus River in the east, defeating all he fought against, he despaired at having no new lands to conquer, and affected by a strange melancholy, laid down his sword and died.

Another interesting case study was of course the Roman Empire, which, after reaching the height of its power, had grown careless, its armies turning inwards instead of out until it collapsed in upon itself, plunging Western Civilization into a dark age that would last nearly a thousand years.

'_All of human history shows patterns, repetitions, variations on a theme…and one of the ones that resonates most strongly is that victory can be just as deadly as defeat. '_

And this was true even in the modern era, as Britannia was learning much to its detriment, as it spread across the known world at a frenetic pace, rushing towards its inevitable end. For sooner or later, even the greatest of empires would meet its match, and when happened, the ideals of the strong crushing the weak would be called into question as Britannia's subject peoples turned upon oppressors grown complacent in the wake of victory, unable to react in time to a knife between metaphorical ribs.

In Lelouch's mind, the Holy Britannian Empire was like a golem built on feet of unfired clay, marching relentlessly onwards until it hit a stumbling block, whereupon the feet would crumble and the body would fall, tumbling the ground and splintering into a thousand shards of poorly crafted pottery.

The exile fully intended to be that stumbling block, to be the unanticipated variable which would throw off their calculations—which was much easier than one would think, given how most Britannians refused to take the challenges of those they had conquered seriously, relying on their technological superiority to crush any who dared resist.

But as the Lamperouge magus was fast discovering, while heavy-handed blows were hard to block, they were not terribly hard to deflect, redirect, or avoid in most circumstances—though there were times when one such might be used as a feint to trap a foe who failed to take such possibilities into account, due to reasons of ignorance or honor, perhaps.

'_Does Britannia really expect its foes to fight them on its terms when such a confrontation would be decidedly unequal?'_ he had wondered more than once, shaking his head at the absurdity of the idea. If war was basically an expression of the ideal of power as righteousness (which it could be said to be, since the winner of a clash of people's or ideologies tended to run roughshod over the conquered), why should one face an opponent at his or her strongest instead of attacking from the shadows and claiming every possible advantage?

Order, chaos, good, evil—the definitions of these things were fluid, left to be identified by the eventual winner of a conflict. Thus, the only thing that mattered was results, as a choice of means meant nothing if it did not bring about victory.

'_Chaos in a sense is not disorder but the unknown, the ultimate fear of mankind—this has been true since the very origin of humanity,' _Lelouch thought, reflecting on why he had claimed for himself the title of Zero. _'Mankind fears the darkness, and so lights fires to scrape away at its edges…but in so doing only heightens their fear of what they cannot see or understand. Hence, why I have chosen a manifestation of their deepest-set terrors as my avatar, to unnerve and enrage my enemies, forcing them to act irrationally.'_

Quite the ploy, if he did so himself, and to be honest, Luciano Bradley's murderous rampage in the guise of Zero hadn't exactly hurt either. While it _had_ disrupted his plans to appear as some hero of justice who could protect the powerless from their oppressors, he supposed that the line between heroism and villainy was rather subjective, depending on one's point of view.

Still, whether he intended to be the hero or the villain of the twisted tale he found himself living, there was no denying the fact that a basic level of exposure to the unknown was necessary. Not bravery, as even the bravest person might run the first time one encountered an overwhelming foe, or faced death; not ambition, because even the most ambitious could falter in the face of adversity; not even overwhelming skill or power, though those certainly helped as well; no, the first requirement was becoming accustomed to dealing with dangerous (possibly deadly) situations so that one didn't freeze.

That was the reason behind the combat training—and the lack of instruction in advanced spells, for as Lelouch was beginning to realize, knowledge high-power thaumaturgy would do him no good unless he was actually able to use it effectively.

'_I suppose that's an unstated benefit in being paired with a Satsujinki – one learns very quickly that nothing in the darkness can be quite as terrifying as the Reaper beside you. But that is only to be expected when one is literally flirting with death._'

There was still some measure of awkwardness between them, due to the dream incident engendered by White Ren, but a stressful week of facing life-or-death situations together, with no one else to rely on, culminating in a hard-fought victory for the two of them, had gone a great way towards wearing down the tension.

Even as the exile pondered all these things, tendrils of his consciousness continued to project itself outwards, reaching through stone and mist and rubble for any sign of activity, magical or otherwise. But, as had been the case for the past three hours of watch duty, not a trace was to be found, which meant that either his trainers had decided not to attack—or that they had devised (or were now willing to reveal) a way to conceal their presence.

Either way, the Lamperouge magus had the sneaking suspicion that continuing to monitor the situation wouldn't exactly be productive, so as his awareness made one last circuit of the area, he modified some of the extant spell-threads embedded in the ground to react to the presence of others by tying a strand of his own magical energy to them, creating magical tripwires of a sort – tripwires that would set off one of his trap spells, converting the mist into flechettes of ice that would rain down on any who triggered them.

'_I may not have the best spell repertoire, but my Master's actions have helped me to become quite proficient with what I do have…'_

That competence was something he took pride in, despite (or was it because of) what had been involved in building the foundations of his knowledge of magecraft. Having very few spells stored within his Crest (_**Gandr**_ and the "Transference of consciousness" spell being the only two, in fact), no access to mystical grimoires he could study to expand his library of spells (to say nothing of the time required to peruse and study said grimoires), and no enchanted artifacts that would simply bestow knowledge onto him, Lelouch was forced to rely on two alternate techniques. One was straightforward enough, learning and replicating the spells of his opponents by reproducing their echoes upon the fabric of the world.

_Basic wards established. Spell-threads stable, resonance hidden. _

For the other, however, Lelouch would need to focus his full attention elsewhere, and so, after confirming that his snares were indeed concealed well enough in the spellweave to be overlooked by a cursory inspection, willed his consciousness to return to his physical body.

"Meh…" the exile groaned as his motionless body was reanimated by the presence of his soul, the shock mind and flesh coming together after some time apart proving to be rather jarring, taking in the smells and sounds amplified in the dark crypt. "I'd never realized how loud the human body was, or how strange it could be, before I began practicing magecraft…"

The transition wasn't so bad if he was simply letting tendrils of his awareness branch out into the environment, using his body to synthesize the information he gathered, since in that use, his consciousness never fully left his body at all. Spending a prolonged period of time with mind dissociated from body, however, proved more taxing, especially if he had had a chance to acclimate to the perceptions of whatever it was he happened to be possessing – say a city that seemed intelligent, buzzing with faint emotions and fragments of memory.

Then again, if Mana could destroy things just by running her finger across lines only she could see, if a gaudy wand like toy could grant its bearer the knowledge and power of an alternate self at the price of some humiliation (so as to remind one that power was not without a price), if simple looking portals could form gateways between dimensions and forgotten realms, then it wasn't too unbelievable that an ancient nexus of magic might retain impressions of the ones that had once lived there, fought there, died there.

Or that traces of being possessed by the Kaleidostick still lurked in the depths of Lelouch's mind, with scattered fragments of knowledge from the 15,498 significant variations of his present self lingering in his subconscious. By design, such lore was compartmentalized and sealed away for his sanity, since any who accessed this overwhelming amount of knowledge—and more to the point, the memories and power associated with it— without an intermediate device to serve as a buffer, ran the risk of shattering one's mind and either having one's memories erased and overwritten by those an alternate self, or simply burnt out, mangled beyond repair.

With very few exceptions, those that Zelretch had taken under his tutelage through the ages had suffered one of these fates, even when warned specifically against doing attempting to reach into these other worlds on their own. To a one, they were drawn by the allure of the forbidden, yearning for the power that other selves had learned (but without the humiliation of the Kaleidostick to teach restraint) —and so had destroyed themselves, like Icarus flying too close to the sun, too soon. Or so had been the case so far, enough so that even the Wizard Marshal was beginning to despair of finding a successor, with the Old Man actually considering abandoning this world altogether, only to be stopped by a request from the Grey Witch, one of his oldest friends, if their relationship could be called such…and by his curiosity at how Lelouch Lamperouge, a young man with barely any magical training, had managed to retain his sanity when possessing the Kaleidostick.

Far from losing himself in the infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities, the young magus had condensed the impossible number down to a manageable one by eliminating those with insignificant differences, methodically sorting through them and coming to the realization that what he was seeing was due to the Kaleidostick. Following that, the exile had even managed the impressive feat of breaking free of the magic with his consciousness relatively whole and intact.

Which left one question in Zelretch's mind, knowing as he did the lure of forbidden knowledge and how many, upon recalling that traces of an alternate self's abilities would linger in the mind, would seek it, no matter the risk: Once Lelouch found the temptation of the Mirage Knight's power too great to resist and actively delved into the memories of his alternate self—or selves, would the exiled prince be able to keep his mind intact?

Unbeknownst to the Second Sorcerer, Lelouch had wondered the same thing, but had put those concerns out of mind. Like any human, he feared death, but more than that, he craved knowledge as a drowning man craved air, since to accept ignorance meant resigning oneself to the whims of fate, to be but a powerless husk at the mercy of the world—and that was one thing he refused to give in to, a state to which he never wanted to return. Far better to suffer the true death in an attempt to overturn destiny, than to endure without power the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

Thus, Lelouch vi Britannia inhaled deeply, holding his breath for several long seconds before exhaling in a rush, clearing his mind as he prepared to face possible oblivion…again.

But before he sank into a trance to pick his alternate self's brain, there was something else that he had to do: rouse Mana from her slumber, which the exile was rather reluctant to do, seeing how she had taken quite the beating earlier in the day (even losing an arm, though she had won in the end), and was now sleeping to recover her badly depleted energies.

As was becoming the norm, an involuntary smile quirked at the edges of Lelouch's lips as he glanced down at his partner, senses heightened by darkness noting that the Satsujinki was murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep, beginning to shift about in an attempt to snuggle more deeply into her blankets, an anxious, almost pensive expression marring her lovely features. This was a side of the assassin he had never seen before, and he found that it, like the rest of the time he had spent in this forgotten land, made him all more curious about the woman sleeping beside him, who had promised to watch his back, as he watched hers.

He knew that her name was Mana Ryougi, but who was she beyond her name? She seemed to be around his age, give or take a few years, but what had she experienced in her years with the Grey Witch? What had Britannia done to her that she wished for revenge against it so badly? How had she come to acquire the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, which Milly had once explained to him was thought to exist only in fairy tales? How did the prospect of taking injuries—even losing an arm—barely seem to faze her? But beyond that…he found himself wondering what assassin dreamt about that could unsettle her so, when he knew her to be so controlled and generally composed, save for the few instances in which they were caught entirely off guard?

Shaking his head to clear it of the irrelevant thoughts and details the night seemed to inspire all too easily, Lelouch carefully schooled his features back to neutrality. This wasn't the time for such things, and as much as the magus wanted to let his partner rest, there was the not so minor consideration that if he wanted to access sealed memories and examine them for useful details, he would have to wake her to keep a lookout, or at least to be alert and awake, ready to attack any enemy that broke past his basic wards, since the magus was completely defenseless while in his meditative state.

'_If I don't take the opportunity now, I may not have another chance, seeing as Mana is to be taken at dawn to have her arm replaced, presumably by a puppetmaster, and I do not know how long that will require.'_

Sighing, the magus eased himself to a sitting position, gingerly reaching out to prod the Satsujinki to wakefulness—but the moment he touched her, Mana snapped instantly to wakefulness, her uninjured hand seizing his offending arm with remarkable speed as her body tensed to strike—then visibly relaxed, releasing him as she noted that it was only her partner.

"Time for your nightly ritual, oh _Mirage Knight_?" the assassin quipped sardonically, stifling a yawn as she rose to her feet, smoothing out the most obvious wrinkles from her somewhat rumpled garments. Apparently, the raven-haired Satsujinki had tossed and turned more than usual in her sleep, though she wasn't particularly surprised at this, given that it tended to occur after taking serious injuries. "Any unusual activity while you were on watch?"

"You might say that," Lelouch answered archly, keeping his tone purposefully light, though his words were anything but. "And no, things have been quiet tonight—"

"—but you think that an attack will come before dawn, in keeping with our trainers' warped psyches," the Ryougi heiress summed up, retrieving one of her knives and glancing over at her partner again, receiving a nod of confirmation. "I see. I take it that you would prefer that I remain here to protect you, L.L.?"

"That would be appreciated," the magus said after a moment, glancing in the direction of the only door into the underground chamber where he and his partner had chosen for the night's rest. "With the mist as thick as it is, there's little point in venturing outside, and should we come under attack…"

He trailed off, eyeing the Satsujinki speculatively. She in her turn, nodded, acknowledging the point.

"Agreed. For now, defending our position is the best course of action, since I doubt that the enemies of this afternoon will be involved in assaulting this position after today's events," the assassin confirmed, moving soundlessly to take a position flanking the door, so as to have the advantage against any intruder. Privately though she did hope that Fujino wasn't too badly hurt. She had a feeling that Aunt Azaka would be…rather unhappy with her if it proved otherwise.

"Very well then," Lelouch noted, laying himself back down upon the ground in preparation for his trials. "I've taken the liberty of laying down some rudimentary traps and wards, so we should have some warning if anyone approaches—hopefully enough for me to break from my trance."

"Not that you've proven particularly adept in high-level combat," Mana ribbed dryly, though her tone lacked any real rancor, seeming almost amused. "You're certainly improving but…"

"No, but I do have my uses from time to time," the exile returned with a hint of self-mockery. Levity helped to keep the tension from becoming too overwhelming, and to take the sting out of words that might have hurt his ego once upon a time.

"Touché," the Satsujinki intoned, acknowledging her training partner's point as she settled in a semi-ready stance at her chosen post. "You do show your worth every once in a while…"

A moment or two of silence.

"Will you be alright in case an attack does come?" Lelouch asked, eyeing the flapping sleeve where one of Mana's arms had been. While he was fairly certain that the assassin could be just as lethal with one arm as with two, restraining an enemy, performing feints, or even keeping balance might prove more difficult.

'_Though she had said that this isn't the first time, so perhaps she's used to such injuries. All the same…'_

"You mean with this one working arm of mine?" Mana returned blandly, arching one slender eyebrow as the magus wince, not wanting to have been quite so—direct. "Well, I don't exactly have a choice, do I?" Then her expression softened fractionally as she glanced over at Lelouch. "I'll manage, L.L., so just worry about your nightly routine."

_Five gates revolving – locks open._

Seeing her point, Lelouch took a deep breath…and opened his Magic Circuits, turning his senses and attention inwards to the flow of magical energy through his body, letting his consciousness sink deeper, deeper, deeper past the surface, past the hidden, past that underneath even that, experiencing the sensation of white-hot knives being driven inch-by-inch into his skull.

_Deeper._

Past the knowledge of flow and the awareness of reality, past the outward impressions of stone and air and heat on his skin, past the layers of memory and Crest where _**Gandr**_, some intermediate ice and rudimentary earth spells, and his mental magic was stored, down into the raging torrents of light and heat coursing through his veins, his bones, his nerves.

"Guh…!"

A strangled cry escaped his throat as hellfire tore through every nerve, every muscle, every fragment of body and mind, though he ignored it to plunge further into the tangled thicket of memories, past fear, past anger, past regret, past everything that made him human.

_Deeper._

"_Ack—kuh…"_

In taking this forbidden journey to the heart of darkness, Lelouch felt his sanity beginning to unravel, the incredible pressure of the magical energy surrounding him eating at his mind, tugging at the outermost strands of memory, threatening to overwrite, overwrite, overwrite…

_Deeper._

Seconds, minutes, hours blended in a haze, as the magus turned himself inward, his mind sinking further and further, until at last the rushing torrents of energy brought him to a barrier, one that reeked of danger, of death itself, warning him to go back before he died.

'_But I can't go back.'_

_Deeper._

With a herculean surge of mental exertion, the magus pushed at the boundary, willing it to break, willing it to grant him passage, as a thousand needles erupted in his body, pierced his heart, his stomach, his kidneys, his intestines, the pain of it far beyond anything he had experienced in life, even from the hands of the succubus.

His limbs were twisted into corkscrews, fingers, knuckles, joints breaking, breaking, breaking down, bones shattering, a silent scream—

And then he was through, leaving him in a bleak expanse, a primal place older than memories, where light, darkness, sound and all else did not matter—where even time was meaningless, as his mind was suddenly bombarded with images and memories strange and conflicting, a gurgle of naked agony tearing through his soul as his circuits were seared by overwhelming incomprehensibilities.

_'Picture the flow…'_ he thought to himself, the breathing of his mental avatar ragged and uneven as the psychic assault redoubled with each moment he spent in these depths, like the mass of the ocean bearing down on an unprotected diver on the abyssal plain. _'Follow the flow. Clear the mind. Do not seek what is unnecessary.'_

Knowledge, impossible, irrelevant knowledge, tempted him, whispering seductively of power beyond imagination as it violated him, invaded him, tore through his barriers and sense of self even as he focused on maintaining the kernel of his being in the face of the onslaught.

_Pain. Pain. Pain Pain painpainpainpainpainpain!_

Space split, rending itself with the sickening sound of a bodies ripping apart. Was it because Lelouch had willed his senses to be here—was it because he had forced his way past the seal?

'_There's no pain…the cognition of pain doesn't matter now.'_

So the exile tried to convince himself as he was swallowed by the void_, _falling into a whirling maelstrom of eternal, unendingagony caused by one set of memories overwriting another, overwriting another as his very being rested in a state of flux, hundreds, no thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of voices babbling all at once as they all sought to become the "I."

"Ha—guh…"

He didn't know where he was.

He didn't know who he was.

He didn't know what—

'_NO! I am I. __**I**__ am myself. I am Lelouch Lamperouge, who desires the destruction of Britannia,'_ the magus repeated raggedly, reaffirming his own existence to suppress the other clamoring voices, something that grew less successful each time he breached the barrier, weathering the inevitable erosion of his being for a mere scrap of knowledge. _'That's right. Clear the mind and don't look at anything unnecessary…'_

He was in the center of a great Circuit like a spider's web, surrounded by multilayered crests carved into the endless void, blanketing the expanse in many layers as nigh infinite strands of power branched off into the expanse to alternate selves in an infinite kaleidoscope of parallel worlds, the draw of each pulling his body apart at the seams.

'_Too much, too much, too much, too much…focus!'_

Only supreme force of will allowed him to focus on the memories of one alternate self, one that his body and mind had been possessed by before: the Mirage Knight Zero, servant to Altrouge Brunestud, Eclipse Princess of Black Blood, Lord of Blood and Contract, a powerful magus who had surpassed humanity long ago.

Focusing, he plunged into the mind of that other self, entering her with a powerful mental thrust, finding himself immediately engulfed by the experience of a life utterly unlike his own, vision narrowing as the whispers expanded into a world.

Phantasms. Spirals. Prisms. Theories of divergence, theories of convergence, constructive and destructive interference blending into yin and yang, energy fluxes, illusions of present past future infinity big bang storms spewing mirage missile massacres, bowing at the feet of the Crimson Moon. Calculations, calculations, calculations in error—an enormous crystal spider.

Too much. Too much. Too much!

Rapidfire images tore into his mind, lacerating, cauterizing, distending and distorting. Too much to focus on any one thing, too much for an insignificant consciousness seeking a morsel of knowledge, an overwhelming surge that seared through the nerves through the eye, shot through the brain and near fried it in the first instant of exposure.

'_I'm repelled. No…I can't be repelled. I can't reach it. No…Not reaching it is unforgivable! I can't back out now…'_

Too much that could not be comprehended, too much that could not be imitated, as memories welled up, grinding at the intruder, seeking to take him over, to force him out. But Lelouch in his stubbornness anchored himself to the mind, withstanding the buffeting as he reached for something at the edge of his perception with great tenacity. He would not fail, so he reached out, reached out, reached out, extending his arms for dozens of meters, hundreds of meters, thousands of meters, extending, extending, extending.

A glimpse of the White Princess, chained up upon her frozen throne. The taste of a foe's lifeblood as she drank it greedily. A disemboweling sea of trees, and a bloodfruit at the center. Unnecessary, unnecessary, unnecessary…

'_Past that, past that, past that still…'_

The endless void. Manipulation of raw magical energy. Absolute Destruction…incomprehensible, staggering the mind. Entropy, entropy, entropy cannot be reversed…light? Barriers? A thousand blades and calculations.

Something odd from outside the void, an alarm…silenced in the next moment.

No distractions, no deviations, no interruption allowed, for he hadn't reached it yet, didn't even have his fingertips on what he sought.

_A chill. Eternal Winter and Old Night. _

_A figure stands alone on an empty battlefield, shrouded in shadow, covered with blood. Frozen tears trace lines of fire down pale cheeks, a quivering form. Peace is a mirage. Victory is a mirage. Hope is a mirage. All that remains is…_

A scuffle from somewhere beyond his senses, the sound of shattering, splintering, Mana fighting someone, the clank of footsteps.

_CRASH!_

A thunderous impact as every one of his Magic Circuits disengaged, discharged, tearing free of the snaring tendrils of the alien mind it had tapped, the magus focusing on the image of ominously glowing eyes to find his way back to his body, some useless parts ablating away, jettisoned to gain speed as ascend, ascend, ascend at the speed of light as—

"_**Absolute Zero."**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Saitama Ghetto, Area 11**

Some distance from Saitama, in the guise of a simple civilian on a rooftop, the Grey Witch C.C watched as a massive aerial armada blackened the skies in Saitama, with the ground below erupting in fiery explosions each vessel disgorged its payload of missiles, bombs, incendiary weapons, and other heavy ordinance designed to wipe the ghetto from existence. It seemed that despite her efforts to thwart the Britannian army's advance, killing off more or less the entire enemy force in Saitama—and disabling their prototype Knightmare—there had been a variable she had not taken into account: air power.

The green-haired Sorceress had been aware of the portion of the Pacific Fleet based on Shikine Island, but had not thought to include it in her calculations, seeing as that force was generally intended to deal with any possible acts of aggression by the Chinese Federation.

'_Or,'_ she thought, rather cynically, knowing Britannia and those who ran it as she did, _'kept in reserve for a planned invasion of the Chinese Federation…'_

Either way though, Bradley had diverted the Aerial Armada from its intended purpose, using it instead in an (admittedly effective) ploy to crush both the current resistance—and the hope of success of any resistance movement to come. While normally, this wouldn't work, since violence would beget further violence, an overwhelming show of power might well work to suppress any future dissent, especially coupled with the brutal killing of most of the Kyoto House, something which C.C. suspected that the Third had had a hand in.

It was a chilling thought that if the Knight of Ten won a crushing victory over the resistance, then any financial or paramilitary support for the rebellion would likely dry up in a matter of weeks, if not days, and Area 11 would truly be pacified on pain of death. Previous Governor-Generals might have cared about preserving the infrastructure or keeping the Japanese people around as a labor force to benefit the Holy Britannian Empire, but Luciano Bradley was different, caring only for the art of slaughter.

'_Somehow, he has to be stopped…' _C.C. thought, lips tightening with grim resolve as she considered how it might be done. _'But how? A single airship might be easily dispatched, but an armada?'_

How indeed? Even if she was more than an equal for any ground forces sent against her, the First Magician had no way of dealing with airships, at least not without using a large number of Broken Phantasms to wipe them from the sky, as she had once done millennia ago in the war that destroyed her homeland. While it was admittedly a tempting option, an impressive feat of destruction that would utterly reverse the balance of power in the area, routing the Britannians and heartening the Japanese population, possibly stirring them towards efforts to break away from the Empire in earnest—it was also impractical.

Even if the Witch had the mana to project and charge that many Broken Phantasms, which she didn't, with her reserves dangerously low from her involvement in the battle, such a move would also attract far too much scrutiny from unwanted parties—particularly from V.V. and his agents.

Still, while reports from the other ghettos were likewise grim, with Shinjuku having been occupied by the Irregulars and their advanced bio-organic Einherjar Frames, and Chiyoda unlikely to hold, given that a portion of the Aerial Armada had moved into position over the ghetto, the situation was not yet unsalvageable.

'_Although it could easily become so if things continue as they have been – or the fleet above Chiyoda opens fire…'_

While she had dared to hope, C.C. had known from the beginning that achieving overwhelming victory against Britannia during this operation was unlikely. However, she had bloodied the forces in Saitama, and she had a responsibility to the ones who had pledged themselves to her as her Black Knights, the ones whose battle experience and defiance of Britannia might well make them the core of the resistance movement in days to come.

And so it fell to her to create a diversion that would allow the Black Knights to regroup and escape with the bulk of their forces.

'_Based on the news reports and the rumors in the wake of the Kyoto massacre, the Britannians seem to believe that Zero destroyed the Britannian Victory Memorial Center with some sort of sakuradite-based explosive supplied by treasonous elements of the Kyoto House,' _C.C. mused, a slow smirk crossing her lips as she thought of the best way to disrupt Bradley's seemingly inevitable victory. _'And since they think of Zero as a murderer, no one will blame him for continuing this pattern of behavior…or cutting off the head of the snake.'_

With a quick shimmer of particles, her clothing dematerialized in a swirl of light, then reformed as the costume of Zero, a arrow-like sword held in the vigilante's right hand, a pitch-black weapon, with a few small edges coiling around the thin core, spiraling around it and somewhat curving outward, radiating a sense of animosity.

While using many Broken Phantasms was decidedly out, perhaps just one would be acceptable, the immortal mused, as a bow took shape in C.C.'s other arm and she nocked the Noble Phantasm to the string, reinforcing her eyes so as to lock onto her distant target: the G-1 Mobile Command Center that served as Luciano Bradley's temporary base.

Ten seconds, twenty, thirty passed as C.C. poured magical energy into the weapon, eyes narrowing until—

"_**Broken Phantasm:**_ _**Hrunting!**_"

—a streak of light faster than any extant missile was loosed at hypersonic speeds, outpacing the shockwave of its passage as it crossed the kilometers between "Zero's" distant vantage point and the Mobile Command Center in scarcely over a second and erupted in a flare of heat and light, killing the generals, the aides, and the Governor-General himself before they even knew an attack was inbound.

Moments later, the bow and Zero costume faded from C.C., who turned to go, once more in civilian garb, utterly drained by her last projection.

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 71_

During the week that Mana had spent with Lelouch Lameperouge in the training exercise devised by the Second Magician and his…associates, the Ryougi had studied her companion extensively, wanting to find out more about his motivations and his personality—particular noting how odd it was that when he dissociated from his body or slept, the young man seemed almost dead, an empty husk without spirit, without life. This was markedly different from his persona when fighting against their trainers, a more confident, determined, almost defiant Lelouch who never grumbled about pain or the necessities of a plan—or from his relaxed but alert persona when simply eating, though a bit of his inner brittleness tended to seep out whenever he let his guard down.

'_But most intriguingly of all, L.L. doesn't fear _me _or my strange power, seeming to have accepted it as easily as his own abilities,'_ the Satsujinki reflected, shaking her head slightly at the thought that he had no fear for the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. _'Then again, he has admitted that above all, he seeks the power to change his course, and so will endure almost any humiliation to obtain it.'_

And endure he had, biting his tongue, refusing to complain about the manifold tortures thrown at him, taking everything and growing from it, turning his weakness into an opportunity to learn, grimly continuing to fight until his body gave out, without retreating, without holding back.

This was why the magus' nightly "meditation sessions" disturbed her so, as they revealed not the calm that one would expect from meditation, nor the quiet confidence of someone questing after knowledge, but the tortured expression of someone about to lose his mind from excruciating agony. And though she had the courtesy to look away, the assassin couldn't tune out the audible whimpers and half sobs that wracked the exile's form as his Magic Circuits, nerves, and body seemed to overload almost to the point of breaking, though thus far, Lelouch had returned intact—if exhausted—from the sojourns into the depths of his mind.

'_I cannot fault his desire to grow stronger, but how long can he keep up his…meditation before it destroys him?' _ Mana wondered, knowing all too well the limitations of the human body. While she respected his resolve, the Ryougi heiress knew that the exile was one who often ignored his limits and suffered for it—something that made him similar to C.C., though the Grey Witch was immortal and possessed powerful healing magecraft, while Lelouch…didn't. '_And as the Witch has explained, attempting magecraft beyond one's level can leave one permanently crippled or de—.'_

_Whump! _

At the strange sound from outside, Mana froze, knife instantly in her hand as every sense was attuned to the environment, every muscle in her body tensing to defend against an incoming attack.

The muffled sound came again, from a different direction this time, slightly further away, with the air resonating with the energy of triggered spells. And following that…nothing. Once more the night was silent, the tension rendering it the sort of oppressive silence that was the anti-existence of sound rather than just its absence, heightening the senses while tainting the mind with twinges of anxiety and unease, so that every moment, every imagined little noise drove one closer and closer to madness as..

_BANG!_

The door slammed open with a resounding thud, revealing…no one there. At least, that was the case for anyone without Mystic Eyes, as Mana could see several lines of death just moving in midair—and she knew from experience that this was generally someone who had rendered him/herself invisible in some way, shape or form.

On instinct, Mana _moved, _ducking to the side as something massive sliced the air where she had stood a moment ago, a powerful shockwave hurling her against the wall, stunning for a moment as the opponent came at her, slashing down to cleave her in two, but reacting unconsciously, she barely managed to dodge the blade—though not the blast of razor wind that sent her skidding across the ground, nearly falling over before she could recover herself.

'_Just defending is no good…it's time to attack…'_

Crushing blows tore into the ground, the wall, the air where the weapon hit, swung with strength Mana hadn't thought it possible for a human without reinforcement—and she hadn't seen any sign of the enemy using magecraft, or any change in the lines that would indicate the presence of a spell to be killed.

Dodging blows, evading blows, ducking under and around blows—clothing damaged by razor wind that opened up long, bleeding cuts on her skin, but while Mana was keeping the opponent away from where Lelouch lay, utterly vulnerable in his suffering, she was also studying the enemy's pattern of attack. One-two-five blows later, she had a pretty good idea of what the opponent would do, so this time, when her mysterious attacker's weapon _whirred_ through the air, slicing at her torso, Mana was ready.

Kicking off the ground, she slid under the weapon, her knife slashing up to meet it, tearing with swift precision down the main line of death, following up with a quick thrust kick and a slice of her knife down the most obvious line on to torso, finishing with a spinning heel to her opponent's armored face, letting her gain the momentum to dance out of the way of any counterattack.

Surprisingly, her opponent did not fall, though the enigmatic assailant did retreat, jumping back several meters from a standstill with a strangely mechanical whine, pieces of the assailant's now broken weapon—revealed to be an ebon greatsword graven with silver runes—falling to the ground with metallic clangs. Moments later, whatever device had kept the intruder invisible failed, revealing a figure clad in some strange charcoal grey and crimson combat armor, resembling nothing so much as a medieval knight.

"You destroyed my Blutsauger?" a distinctly feminine soprano issued from within the armor, smooth, but slightly accented, her form slightly blurred by a shadowy haze. "_And _damaged my armor's core functionality? Damn, you're persistent …as expected from Mana Ryougi."

A slight hiss of metal on metal, as the adversary drew a second, much more ominous weapon, a jet-black longsword etched with gold whose presence alone made Mana shiver—though what unnerved the Satsujinki most was that she could not see her opponent's lines. Now that her opponent was visible, she could see that the lines visible to her before were the lines of the armor and of some enchantment cast upon her enemy previously—not her enemy's lines or points of death.

'_Noble Phantasm…'_

"Who are you?" the Chokushi no Magan adept demanded, eyes narrowing as a shiver went down her spine at the enemy before her. "No…what are you?"

"I am the Knight of Dusk, the Second's second," the armored figure replied enigmatically, hefting her blade. "Beyond that, I am not inclined to answer."

Two steps forward, as both figures blurred, though this time, the Dusk Knight was faster, countering Mana's movements as if she was intimately familiar with the Ryougi's combat style, one hand seizing the wrist of the Satsujinki's weapon arm and squeezing as—

_Thud!_

—Mana was slammed up against the wall, the wind knocked out of her as her knife fell from her nerveless hand, the cold edge of a sword held against her throat.

"One with your eyes is death to the unnatural, as you can slay nearly anything under Gaia," the armored knight intoned, voice somewhere between smug and amused. "But what can you do against someone whose death you cannot perceive?"

Mana's eyes flashed a deadly shade of blue as she glared at her enemy's helmet, adrenaline and desperation lending her the strength to pull her hand free of her foe's gauntleted grasp…and trace a line that she could see—that of the sword.

Enchanted metal shattered in the darkness, startling the Knight of Dusk for long enough for the Satsujinki to launch a front push kick against her foe, smashing her away.

"Improvise," the assassin replied saucily, scooping up one of the blade's larger fragments before it hit the ground. Her body bled from numerous cuts, including a thin crimson line at her throat, her clothing was torn and scuffed, but despite all this Mana stood defiant, unwilling to give any ground to her attacker, unwilling to fail in her duty.

"_**Auuughhhhhh!" **_

Both fighters were distracted momentarily by a scream of absolute terror and agony, the worst that the Satsujinki had heard from her partner yet, as if a soul was being torn asunder, the oppressive feel of uncontained magical energy surging through the chamber, draining the heat from it as two words were spoken: _**"Absolute Zero."**_

This time, it was the Dusk Knight that was smashed aside, as seven great orbs of ice and darkness converged upon her in a loose vortex of power, miniature maelstroms of power erupting explosively as one by one, they found a mark, landing with a crunch to carve icy furrows on the ground, freezing the air in its wake, tendrils of withering lightning blasting forth to drain energy of those they so much as grazed. Mana risked a glance backwards to see who had cast the spell, only to be taken aback by the sight of the haggard form of Lelouch Lamperouge struggling shakily to his feet, his arm thrust outwards towards the battling duo.

"Sorry about the delay," the magus quipped with difficulty, his every movement still fraught with pain—though he didn't complain. "Thanks for watching my back."

"Well, I suppose I can let you off the hook just this once," the Satsujinki replied with a razor-edged smile, turning back to confront and finish off her foe.

Alas, she didn't get the chance, as a second mana flux made itself known, the building itself seeming to turn hostile as thick spikes of ice shot out from every angle. Coming down, from every side, and from the floor, silent and unexpected, it was a forest of death that overran this once safe haven, a spell aimed to skewer those present.

Mana jumped aside as spears of ice erupted from the ground all around her, her hand slashing out to destroy more of the spires to open a route—

_Squelch!_

"Kuh!"

—but her free arm was impaled by several icicles, piercing clean through one side and out the other, preventing her from moving, with dozens more rising to form a cage around her body. If both arms were in proper working order, she would have been able to break free, but with only one, it was a foregone conclusion as the white-clad succubus named White Ren walked into view, smirking as she curtseyed, beckoning the exhausted Lamperouge magus to fight her.

His staff _click-snapping_ to full extension, Lelouch approached his master slowly at first, a grim set to his features as he prepared to answer her challenge. With one fresh and the other exhausted in every way that mattered, it should have been a simple battle, but the exile had one last trick up his sleeve. Instead of attacking the demon familiar, his approach was a feint, letting him spin about and smash the spikes of ice that had trapped his partner's arm.

His reward was a quick knockout via a reinforced jab to the stomach that made him retch, nearly vomiting out the entirety of his last meal, followed by the hypnotic power of White Ren's swirling red eyes.

In his last seconds before losing consciousness, Lelouch caught a glimpse of Mana's battered form sinking down into an ice mirror and vanishing from sight.

* * *

**Undisclosed Location**

Quietly, eyes are slowly opened, and like emerging from mud, the consciousness awakens from a deep and fevered sleep. A white expanse, stretching further than the eye could see, seeming to extend outward to eternity. It was quiet, desolate vista, a world isolated from every other, shielded from all destructive interference in the physical realm – seemingly a refuge.

'_Or a prison…' _Lelouch thought darkly, conditioned as he was to see most things in the worst possible light, cutting through propaganda. Even if he wasn't, though, the magus could think of few uses for an endless void of white, where one felt rather dissociated from one's body—if this was indeed the physical world, which the exile wasn't sure of, since there weren't enough clues to tell. He was still in the somewhat mangled and singed training garb he was knocked out in, so it was possible that this wasn't an illusion, that White Ren had simply brought him here. But then, that led to the time honored query _'Where am I?', _a question he had no answer to.

The last time that White Ren knocked him out, the succubus had trapped the Lamperouge magus in an illusion of a possible future of where his path might lead—something of a chilling realization when he considered how he might very well gain the world, but lose everything that he cared about in the process. If the ones he wanted to change the world for died because of him, whether by his own hands or not, what meaning was there?

The Black Prince found that he did not truly know, and so shook his head as he drifted through this void. He soon came to realize that it wasn't quite as featureless as he'd thought, as strands of woven light crisscrossed the expanse like a thicket or a cage, joining together one by one into dozens of silvery chains that converged upon the bound figure of a green-haired woman in simple white robes, her eyes closed as if asleep.

A woman that seemed painfully familiar, at that.

'_Definitely a prison then, but…could that really be that C.C.? Im—'_

Lelouch cut short his thoughts before he uttered the word 'impossible', seeing as he still wasn't quite sure of the limitations of magecraft or the True Magics, and he did not want to look the fool. After all, he still had a little bit of vanity left to him, even if most of his ego had been worn away over time.

Instead of useless speculation, he put his energy to more productive use by grabbing onto one of the chains as he drifted by them, pulling himself hand over hand towards the bound one, a task easier than he expected. But then, most things tended to be in a microgravity environment—a thought that troubled him briefly when he considered the implications of his surroundings if this was the physical world.

As he suspected, the one in chains was C.C., or at least someone who looked nigh identical, with the flowing green hair and pale skin that he recognized—and the crimson forehead marking denoting her status as a Witch. Still, some aspects of the prisoner were odd, like the prismatic aura radiating from her body, refracting the white of her robes and surroundings into a rainbow of colors, or the way in which she hardly seemed to breathe or move, despite the vibrations that his presence has introduced into the system.

Lelouch was somewhat taken aback when that stillness ceased, the prisoner's golden eyes opening to look upon the stranger in this realm.

"You again, Fourth?" her voice rang out, quiet but powerful in the silence, with something of a imperious manner that reminded him of the Emperor's disdain. "Have you come to release me? Or is there something else that you want, usurper?"

'_Usurper…?'_

"I am neither the Fourth nor an usurper," Lelouch responded evenly, spreading his hands in a placating manner. "What is this Fourth you speak of, and what throne was usurped? Perhaps one of the True Magicians like Zelretch?"

Lelouch's body nearly buckled as a powerful mental presence washed over him, tendrils of magic probing at his circuits, digging deep into his mind to confirm his words—and then did buckle with relief as the presence set him free, having seen into the core of his being.

"Strange, you really aren't familiar with that of which I speak, are you?" the bound Sorceress spoke to his mind after several long moments, in what he was startled to realize was the Unified Language. "Who are you, magus? Are you perhaps one of the Second's allies, then? I recognize hints of the Kaleidescope in you."

"I am Lelouch Lamperouge, a contractor of the First, the one known as the Grey Witch, granted the Knowledge of the King," intoned the black-haired exile, speaking in his own dialect of the Unified Language, his voice filled with a sense of dignitas. "But shouldn't you already know that, C.C.?"

The prisoner of the expanse blinked as she heard his words spoken in a familiar tongue—the tongue once used in Arche Koeln long ago, in that first kingdom when the world was one.

"You speak the Old Tongue? How curious, young magus," the woman murmured, blinking as his words sank in. "And you claim to be an ally of the First Magician, sworn to the Grey Witch as a contractor? Odd…I am certainly she, but I have never been known as C.C., not when I ruled as Cythera, Witch-Queen of Arche Koeln, and not since I was imprisoned in this place by a former ally's treachery."

"Imprisoned?" the Lamperouge magus blinked, attempting to dissociate his mind from his body so that he could more quickly explore this odd realm, but finding that he could not, his magic suppressed and drained by the chain he was holding. "By the Fourth, perhaps?"

'_Ah…that certainly explains the hostility…did the True Magicians have a falling out at some point?'_

"You are rather observant. A commendable trait in any magus, especially one who claims to serve me…or perhaps someone who will one day serve me," the First Magician noted, eyeing the exile speculatively. "Yes, I was betrayed and imprisoned by the Fourth and the Fifth, bound in this Serial Phantasm, a bubble of space-time isolated from the temporal flow, sealed away with indestructible chains draining my magic—the Denial of Nothingness, that which governs creation."

A pause, as the presence seemed to grow more intent, scanning over his consciousness.

"Speaking of time, tell me magus, what era do you hail from?" the Witch Queen inquired sharply, in tone if not in volume demanding an answer.

"If you truly did rule Arche Koeln, then at least ten millennia after your time," Lelouch responded distractedly, trying to wrap his mind around the thought that C.C. might be older than any empire on Earth, a thought that just seemed absurd…

'_But certainly not impossible for an immortal…'_

"Well then…would you know anything about my past that you would be willing to share, magus?" the prisoner asked, a bemused smirk twitching at the edges of her lips. "Or would you know at least how I was freed?"

"That I do not," Lelouch answered honestly, rather glad that he didn't know these details, and thus could not accidentally trigger a temporal paradox. "But perhaps…I can free you from your prison."

"Oh?" Cythera inhaled sharply, then snorted. She didn't wanting to have hopes that would ultimately be dashed, and clearly wondered what a young magus would know that she did not. "And what might that be?"

"A World Pact," the exile recalled from one the succubus' harsh lessons on magecraft and methods of attaining power. "A Contract with the World, offering a miracle in exchange for a sacrifice."

"Ah, but you forget, I cannot…" the First Magician began, but trailed off, eyes widening as she realized that she didn't have to be the one to invoke the ritual, that there was an unbound magus currently in the expanse with her. "I cannot, but you can. Perhaps there was more than one reason I chose you as an ally. Magus, I ask this of you on the contract you swore, inviolable under Gaia –as my ally, free me from this place."

* * *

**Ren's Atelier - Θ Dreaming Illusion's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 81_

After doing as he was bid, the magus Lelouch Lamperouge found his consciousness forcibly ejected from the Serial Phantasm, and so returned to his body, awakening to the sight of curious red eyes, as the black-clad form of Ren examined his vitals by placing her forehead against his, one of her glowing hands pressed against his chest.

Noting that he was finally conscious once again, the familiar pulled back, finishing up her diagnostic before peering at the magus inquisitively, seeming to ask if he needed anything.

"Wa…ter?" the Black Prince rasped, his throat feeling as gritty as coarse sandpaper, a sudden wave of dizziness assailing him as he tried to sit up.

With a curtsey, the industrious succubus/healer turned to the end-table by bed retrieving a pre-filled cup and handing it to Lelouch, who accepted it with a weak smile of thanks, and then left the room, possibly to handle other duties.

Judging by his surroundings, which seemed worn but well-preserved, with a circle of runes keeping his body in stasis, the exile surmised that he was probably either in another magus' workshop, though the presence of Ren suggested that this was one of Zelretch's hidden dimensions, possibly even something hidden within Arche Koeln itself.

'_That would certainly explain where our trainers disappeared to every night,' _the Lamperouge magus mused with a grimace. _'And why we could not find any trace of their encampments.'_

How long had he been out this time? And was what he had seen merely a dream? Or had his experiments with the basics of the Kaleidescope and transference of consciousness, coupled with his bond to C.C., actually thrown his mind into another dimension? He was rather to dismiss the latter scenario as unlikely, but something stopped him.

Before he could spend too long musing on these things though, Ren returned with the Satsujinki in tow, looking between them once and exiting to give the two some privacy. But what exactly did they have to say to one another?

"You look well," Lelouch started off, deciding to get the obvious out of the way. And the Ryougi heiress did indeed look well, having had a chance to rest, on top of receiving Touko's promised arm replacement, not that he could tell that it was artificial, which was the point.

"I didn't think you were going to wake up this time," Mana said in a rather subdued fashion as she walked over to his side, her hard gaze softer than he'd ever seen it, tempered by traces of worry and relief, hands clasped before her.

"I did last time, didn't I?" the exile asked, offering the assassin a weak smile—and handing her his cup.

Mana just sighed as she took the paper receptacle and refilled it, handing it over to the magus, who took pains not to gulp the water down too greedily.

"That was one day trapped in an illusion, Lelouch," the assassin said rather pointedly, shaking her head at his feeble attempts at reassurance. "This time, on top of critical mana deprivation from your spells and the damage done to your body from your meditations, your soul was gone for more than a week, disappearing entirely from this world."

"I see," was all Lelouch could really say to that, another wave of dizziness besetting him as he recalled his conversation in the white expanse. He took a moment to gather himself, knowing that he didn't want to make a mistake here. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Well, I can't really say it was your fault," the Satsujinki sighed, reaching to take the cup from the magus again, though this time, she stiffened when he didn't let go and their hands overlapped. "I'm the one who wasn't able to protect you—and you wouldn't have been so badly off if you hadn't needed to use that _**Absolute Zero**_ spell to help me."

She tried to pull away guiltily, but the magus-in-training put his other hand over hers, trapping it gently as he swallowed, looking her in the eye. While the exiled prince was admittedly rather popular with the opposite sex back at Ashford, mostly due to his ice prince status, he had never really opened up to anyone, and the prospect of that made him nervous.

"So you believe yourself to be in the wrong, Mana," Lelouch interjected, briefly startling the assassin by calling her by name. "How selfish."

"What was that?" the Chokushi no Magan adept demanded, eyes flashing at his accusation.

"To say that it was your fault denies my involvement entirely," the Black Prince noted, though there was no venom in his voice. "And I am certainly not immune from poor judgment at times – if I had kept watch with you instead of seeking power through my meditations, I might not have ended up like this."

"True, you don't exactly belong to me, so I'm not responsible for your actions," Mana said jokingly, though both of them blushed slightly on hearing those words, remembering a certain dream that had involved the two of them…together.

"No, perhaps not," Lelouch agreed after an awkward moment, but offered a correction. "Still, whatever else we are, we are each other's accomplice. And that means neither of us are truly alone in this world."

Mana blinked at hearing this, the magus' words having a strange effect on her. In a very real sense, after the death of her family, she had been almost entirely alone, except for C.C., who wasn't the most human of people. And now, there was Lelouch as well, as odd as it seemed…

"You have a very strange way of offering comfort, L.L.," the Satsujinki noted with a warm smile, not bothering to move her hand from between the two of his. "But thank you, all the same."

"Just as you are surprisingly good at helping people for someone whose title means bloodthirsty murderer."

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 93_

Gravel crunched underfoot as two cloaked figures made their way towards the Void Shrine, all that was left of the palace from which the Council of Five had once ruled. It was the final day of the month-long trial by combat of the Magus-in-training and the Satsujinki, an exercise in frustration and creativity that had brought the partners both to the brink of despair more than once, but had seen them bounce back from it just as quickly, learning their limits, and how to best rely on the other.

One of the two was Mana Ryougi, bearing two sheathed tantos that Touko had given to her after going through with the arm-replacement procedure, though the puppetmaster had asked some rather pointed questions, and had made reference to how the mother was turning out like the daughter. Oddly enough, Touko had not given her a katana, simply assuring her that there would be time for that after the final trial, and that her dual-wielding knife technique would likely be more than enough.

'_And if Touko says so, I'll take that as a vote of confidence, since she's hardly ever caught off guard…'_

She moved with a dangerous grace, deliberation plain in every movement, the methodical execution of each twitch seemingly premeditated and planned in advance, with the final result both beautiful and chilling to behold, cold blue eyes searching for any hint of an enemy, but finding none.

The one beside her was Lelouch Lamperouge, armed with his collapsible staff and his hard-won spells, any initial arrogance or overconfidence burned away by his travails until what was left was a competent magus who had been tested by ruthless opponents and his own actions, prepared for most eventualities.

'_Recall the source of the flow, dissociating the mind from the body. Feel the channels of light from the Crest connecting to the world…and shift.'_

By now, he had developed his consciousness shifting to an extent that he could perform the technique almost casually, gathering data from the environment with more than just his senses. At the moment, he had paused outside the entryway to the Void Shrine to get a sense of what was inside.

"Well?" the assassin asked impassively, raising an eyebrow as she turned to her partner.

"The structure contains several large chambers, and a few small ones, most of them unused," the exile related, eyes hard as he looked at the six panels on the marble door of the shrine, five inscribed with the sigils of the Magics the Sorcerers ruled over, while the last inscribed with a bird-shaped symbol which represented the Five as One. "The central one is what we seek."

"How many hostiles?"

"Five potential, with at least one strong magical signature," Lelouch replied grimly, recognizing exactly who that belonged to. Somewhat difficult not to, given that she had taught him for the better part of two months. "Most likely, it will be all those we have faced in combat."

The two looked at each other, nodded once and then turned their attention once more to the Shrine, pulling open the door and walking in. Calmly, stately, they proceeded onwards, passing through empty antechambers and abandoned side rooms, until they came at last to the ruined central chamber, where intelligence indicated their foes (trainers) awaited them.

To their surprise, the black-clad version of Ren met them at the chamber door, but not with any violent intentions, instead rapping once, twice, thrice upon it.

"Enter," a voice called from within, the doors opening of their own accord to reveal the crumbled council chamber, with five thrones in a star shaped formation at the very center, and a cloaked figure standing before each one: White Ren, Shiki Nanaya, Fujino Asagami, Azaka Kokutou, and the enigmatic Knight of Dusk, whose was once more clad in her strange armor, even under the cloak.

"Long ago, the Land of Origin was ruled by the Council of Five, by great Sorcerers who performed miracles beyond magecraft, beyond human skill," the Knight of Dusk intoned, her voice even as she regarded those who had come for their final challenge.

"Denial of Nothingness," the Nanaya voiced, standing before the first throne.

"Operation of Parallel Worlds," Dusk spoke once more.

"Materialization of the Soul," Azaka Kokutou, apprentice to Touko Aozaki, said impassively.

"Manipulation of Space-Time," added Fujino Asagami, looking particularly solemn on this day.

"Preservation and Entropy," White Ren concluded, rounding out the Five.

"But that land was torn asunder when those powers warred amongst themselves, and a mighty civilization sunk beneath the sea," the Dusk Knight picked up, after the rest had said their piece. "I am the Dusk Knight - the second to the Second Sorcerer. This is your final trial in the place where magi once proved themselves. On the central dias, between the five thrones, rest two treasures – one for each of you. Your task today is not to defeat us, but to claim your reward—if you can. Do you accept, Satsujinki, chosen of the First?"

"I do," the assassin said with some solemnity, given that Ren was prompting them to do so.

"And you, Magus Lamperouge, Contractor to the First?"

"So be it," the exile acknowledged, no stranger to formality, given his royal background.

"Then the final trial begins," the Dusk Knight intoned, snapping her fingers—as the Council Chamber disappeared, leaving behind a snowy field with the moon high above—the Reality Marble of White Ren. "If you approach, we will defend our territory."

"This snowy field is my world," the succubus smirked as she looked at the challengers. "There is nothing here which will not bend to my will—not even you, Satsujinki."

To their surprise, it was Lelouch who shot forward first, his staff snap-hissing to full extension as he attacked, with White Ren moving to meet his challenge with her _**Sword of Execution.**_

"Oh, how brave, boya, but foolish! You can't use your spells in this world," the little succubus taunted, spinning about with her right hands wrapped with magical energy stabbing outward like a blade from her outstretched fingertips, slashing at his neck—

_Fzt! Clang!_

—only to be blocked by the cold metal of exile's spinning staff, a staff slammed outwards against the blade to parry, no, to slide inside the opponent's guard and attack!

But White Ren was ready for that, as a spike of ice erupted from the ground where Lelouch had stood, only for him to roll aside, keeping his staff between him and his enemy.

_Clash! Clang! Fzt!_

Weapons warred for supremacy, with Lelouch trying to keep one step ahead of his "master", deliberately leaving openings in his stance for White Ren to attack—so that he would know exactly where to block, where to counter. She was faster than he was, after all, with her Reinforcement, and were he to face her on equal footing, he likely wouldn't win—and so he played dirty, as might be expected of him.

"You…you can't be keeping up with me!" White Ren fumed, redoubling speed and strength as her blows slashed and hacked down on the exile's defenses, numbing his fingers, nearly forcing him to let go of the staff—though he didn't, as he knew that would be suicide.

Long minutes passed as the two dueled for supremacy, forgetting magic in exchange for the melee, flashes of gold and silver light tearing apart the space they clashed in, with one trying desperately to prove himself, the other equally as determined to crush him.

And then, while everyone was watching the confrontation of succubus and exile, Mana made her move, running forward and using Lelouch's shoulders as a momentary launching pad, knocking her partner to the ground and giving her more altitude than a normal jump would allow.

_Whirr!_

A silver streak tore through the air, a knife embedding itself on a certain spot in the ground—and reverting the snowy field of the Reality Marble to the broken stone of the Council chambers.

_**"Flashing Sheath: Eightfold Slash!"**_

A final technique was invoked as the succubus shot forward, all but disappearing from Lelouch's sight as her weapon flashed through the air faster than he could counter, breaking through his defenses with ease.

…but that was what Lelouch had been waiting for.

"_**Absolute Zero!"**_

Seven great orbs of ice and darkness shot forth from Lelouch's position towards the onrushing succubus, who realized her situation only too late. A final thrust of the blade tore sliced a white-hot line down his outstretched arm—but the spellblade stopped short of anything fatal as its wielder was slammed backwards by a loose vortex of power, her movement slowed as air froze around her.

_Slash!_

The other knife sliced the line of distance between herself and the dais, the Satsujinki's speed impossibly increasing in mid-air, and then she wasn't in midair, landing in a combat roll at the edge of the dais and moving forward to draw the sword and pistol left there.

For several long seconds, everyone froze, an eerie stillness settling over the Council Chamber, until an audible 'pop' broke the silence, with the grizzled form of Kishua Zelretch Schweinorg, the master of the Second Magic, appearing to catch White Ren in mid-air and keep her from falling to the ground.

Beside him stood the Dust of Osiris, the head of Atlas, who had helped oversee the rushed training regimen, the presence of which caused the Dusk Knight to visibly tense.

"Most impressive. I hadn't expected to see quite the show of psychological and magical warfare…well played," the Old Man praised the duo of challengers, while patting White Ren's head in condolence, something that the succubus tried to get away from, not wanting to be treated like a child. "In any case, now you have your gifts. Satsujinki, yours is the Kogarasu Maru, the first curved Japanese sword, older than any other, prototype to the later katanas. Lamperouge, to you goes the Barrel Replica, as you may need it in your time. You may have a day or so to rest and wrap up your affairs, but then, you must prepare for the paths you both must walk."

Both Mana and Lelouch bowed to the old man, who inclined his head as a show of respect, before waving them on to those who had served as the "Guardians" in this challenge, some friends, some rivals, but all interesting people, and nice to know in a context that wasn't "enemy."

For at last the ordeal was over.

* * *

**Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**

After her last projection to assassinate Bradley, a weary C.C. began to head back to Ashford Academy, meandering through the Settlement as might be expected of the simple young woman she had disguised herself as. Her magical core was all but exhausted after the long battle she had been through, for reinforcing herself to fight equally against an advanced Knightmare Frame, projecting several Noble Phantasms (including a Broken Phantasm), facing off against a demon and shielding herself against a bombardment and using _**Water of the Styx**_ all took their toll on her.

'_Well, it could have been worse…Bradley certainly didn't get his victory,'_ she thought, noting that the Black Knights had been able to use the confusion created by the killing of the Governor General to get away, though they ironically had thought to use actual explosives to trap a great many of the enemy Knightmares before they left. As this day had been a painful reminder, battles needed to account for all three dimensions of space – including the sky, and what occurred underground. _'Wait…that's odd, the street is almost empty…'_

Getting a sense that something was wrong, C.C. ducked into a nearby alleyway to take care of business outside the public eye, as behind the immortal, killing intent flared, with C.C. whirling about, instantly projecting three Black Keys in each hand to counter a storm of shadowy tendrils whipping towards her in rapid succession, each charged with torrents of magical energy as they stabbed and slashed at her without mercy, without remorse.

A _clang_, a _whirr_, and a _thump, _as the Grey Witch parried with the Black Keys in one hand, while tossing the others into the seething mass of shadows, three thuds sounding as several shadow spears were pinned against the wall.

While not the most powerful weapons in terms of divine mystery or damage causing potential, Black Keys were actually one of the best weapons to use against shadow magic, since the Keys could pin shadows as though they were physical things, so forcing whips or chains of shadow that an opponent had conjured to stay manifested and unchanging, draining an opponent's mana.

C.C. backed up as the master of the shadows approached, revealing itself to be Anya Alstreim, the Knight of Six, with something that looked like a living tattoo crawling over her body, from which shadow tentacles emerged, slashing at the immortal in a frenzied rush.

"That style of shadow magic…I know it," the First Magician breathed, finding herself hard-pressed to defend in her exhausted state. Were she fresh, this wouldn't be much of a challenge, but as she was now…

_Squelch!_

Skin tore, as a shadow blade ripped the flesh of her cheeks, gouging a deep score before she could block.

"You're not as strong as you used to be, C.C.," the voice of the Knight of Six spoke, though not as dispassionately as usual. "… how disappointing."

A chill ran down the Witch's back, no, more than just a chill. It was an intensely cold thorn, as if a knife were slashed from her brain down to her waist.

In the alleyway, the shadows danced around, a black tide surges forth, like a world of curses.

"Marianne, you…"

'_She must have jumped bodies, possessing another at the moment of death. But why does she want to kill me? Could V.V. be controlling her…?'_

"You don't want to kill me," C.C. spoke quickly, the power of an ancient tongue long lost to mankind issuing from her lips and taking root in the mind of the Knight of Six.

Or at least it should have, but although the Knight of Six paused momentarily, as if shocked—she redoubled her attack in the moment C.C. relaxed even a fraction.

"And why ever not, dear C.C.?" the dulcet tones of Marianne spoke from the body of Anya, "After all, V.V., Charles and I are all allies."

'_No…that's not,' _the immortal grimaced, a stab of pain in her heart. '_You deceived me…'_

Had it all been a lie from the beginning? The assassination and the warning but a ruse to buy the Third time while he mastered his power?

'…_did you think of me as a tool as well, Marianne?'_

Fury kindled in her breast, the First Sorcerer counterattacked, sparks flying as her form blurred against that of Anya's and the two struck at one another, intending to erase the other from existence.

Faster and faster they came at each other, but with each exchange, it was becoming evident that C.C. was tiring before her…old friend, buffeted by a barrage of relentless attacks, relentless strikes, against which the Black Keys did not seem to be enough.

_Clang!_

And then the strikes of shadow magecraft were backed with the powerful blows of the Knight of Six's arming sword, a cruciform blade that had apparently been charged with magical energy similar in nature to an Azoth Dagger writ large.

Block, parry, block, parry, riposte, counter, attempting to retreat, trying to fall back, attempting to press forward, but to no avail.

'_She keeps generating new whips of shadow, even as I keep pinning them down…this is untenable. I need something to counter her…ah…'_

"_**Dyrnwyn!"**_

Scraping the dregs of her reserves, the Grey Witch invoked the name of the first of the legendary thirteen treasures of the isle of Britain, as a gleaming silver sword with blazed into existence. Called "White Hilt" by some, it was a blade that when drawn, it blazed with fire; if drawn by a worthy individual, the fire would help her in her cause, but its fire would burn one who drew it for an unworthy purpose.

Intense light flared out, a powerful slash severing the shadowy tendrils with one blow, as C.C. spun, her sword smashing down with inhuman strength towards Anya's vulnerable neck—only to be repelled by the arming sword releasing its mana all at once, with the Witch stumbling momentarily under the pressure of a powerful mental assault, her defense dropping for an instant as she repelled her old "friend's" attempt to possess her.

She managed to get her guard back up barely half a second later, but it was in that brief moment that the outcome was decided.

Shadow, arming sword, and psychic assault had been but distractions, as the Sorceress discovered to her detriment when the tip of a curved sickle-sword was slammed through her chest, and jerked viciously down and to the left to rip open her torso.

"Guh!"

A crimson spray of high-pressure blood splattered forth like a fountains, dripping, falling, raining down like a thin coat of paint, as shock began to set in, sudden weakness and pain threatening to overwhelm her, though she still managed to—

_Whump!_

A shadowy whip unceremoniously flung the former Witch-Queen to the ground, piercing her chest as she collapsed to her side…

'_A mortal wound…but I should be able to regenerate it…unless…'_

Gathering her willpower, C.C. focused on healing the injury, reversing the flow of time about the wound to restore her to an uninjured state—but nothing happened, save that her strength and consciousness continued to falter, save that black spots entered her vision and eyelids grew heavy.

'_I can't regenerate? Then that sickle-sword is—'_

"Harpe, the Gorgon Slayer," the Knight of Six voiced in response to C.C.'s unspoken question. "Possessing Refraction of Immortality."

"…I might have known," C.C. said tonelessly, her once proud body nearly unable to move as dozens of shadowy spears thrust into her, piercing her all over. "You always did believe in being prepared, Marianne."

"Indeed…this is your end, C.C.," the voice of Marianne said cheerfully. "With your death a better world can be created, where there may be no more meaningless deaths."

"That's…naïve…" the immortal choked out, the blood dripping from the corners of mouth an indication of devastated lungs, feeling the violation as Anya's shadow tendrils reached into C.C.'s magic circuits, searching for the Code imprinted within her…but finding nothing.

'_What?'_

With a downward slash, Anya's _**Harpe**_ swung out to take the immortal's head, but the Witch merely grunted, using the last of her effort to interpose her flaming blade between her neck and her opponent's weapon, looking up at her once-friend with hollow amber eyes that had seen thousands of battlefields, millions passing into death—eyes that knew of betrayal all too well.

As she spoke, her painful, broken voice was numbingly cold, trembling as the icy embrace of death came for her for the last time. This time, there would be no coming back…her fight was over.

"Tell me Marianne, do you or V.V. really think my death would stop what I set in motion?" C.C. whispered beatifically, a painful smirk on her face as her golden eyes seemed to pierce through her assailant. "Then you have learned nothing at all."

'_Trigger off. Detonate.'_

And with that, the Grey Witch, she whose power governed Creation closed her eyes for the last time, the last traces of energy fading from her body as she grew cold—too cold, too quickly.

Sensing an overwhelming power suddenly build up in _**Dyrnwyn, **_Anya reinforced herself, pulling back her shadows and retreating with everything she had as C.C.'s last Noble Phantasm exploded, utterly consuming all within 15 meters with intense silver flames, vaporizing all that was left of immortal's body and most of the area around it – an impromptu funeral pyre for an ancient Witch.

Even with full reinforcement, Anya barely pulled back in time, and indeed, was forced to throw up a great shield of shadows as the molten power ate at her reserves for several long drawn-out seconds…and then she was in the clear, unharmed.

"Primary objective: eliminate C.C.…complete," she intoned, sheathing her curved sickle-sword, with the Marianne personality preparing to stand down until otherwise necessary. "Secondary objective: investigate Ashford Academy…pending."

* * *

**A/N**: Well, sorry for the delay, everyone, but the chapter is out. Enjoy the battles, the development of the characters...oh yes, and the darker twists to come. Thus ends Arc 1, but we're not even halfway done yet. Reviews, comments, feedback, even criticism are all welcome.


	21. Settling Fog

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to elements of the Code Geass franchise, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Training Field 404 - Θ Abandoned Ruined Empire  
**_Day Equivalent 93_

'_So…we won…'_

It was something that Lelouch Lamperouge could scarcely believe as he sat on a fallen stone in the Void Shrine, looking over the group that had gathered in the Void Shrine after the final challenge that he and Mana had been presented with by their instructors, one that, true to expectation, had included no nonsense about points, style, proper technique or such, as those things were secondary to what really mattered in the end: triumph or defeat.

Yet he was still tense, his instincts nagging that the trial had not truly passed, that even now, unseen enemies lurked in the shadows, waiting for him to let his guard down so that they could strike when he was vulnerable. His mind told him otherwise, of course, but an intellect as sharp and powerful as his could not fully suppress half-remembered inklings of pain and wariness.

An irrational fear, he was certain, since no less a personage than the Wizard Marshal himself had commended them on their tactics and mentioned that in a day or so, something new would be beginning, and White Ren had done enough damage to him to satisfy even her twisted nature, but the mindset one acquired after three months of nearly constant threat of life-or-death battles tended to leave its marks, scars both physical and mental, which no amount of therapy could fully remove. But then, that was rather the point of the equivalent of his physically and psychologically trying training regimen – to instill in him a full awareness of what being a magus in this day and age entailed – especially one who had not only chosen a side in the war between the branches of the now sundered Association, but who at the least would be serving as a symbol of defiance against Britannia itself.

A role fraught with risk, to be certain, but for the moment the reality that he had not only managed to survive this last challenge but _prevail_ proved rather satisfying, intoxicating almost—and after facing the hardships and uncertainties that one invariably came across in any struggle, victory as a general rule was quite preferable to defeat, given that one would at least gain something from the ruins of one's dream, instead of losing everything to a lie one had pursued, driven to the depths of despair.

Still, not for the first time, the magus named Lelouch Lamperouge ruminated on the old saying that there was nothing worse than a battle won than a battle lost, for victory tended to be a bittersweet affair, an end never arrived at without pain, without great effort.

Oftentimes the price paid to achieve an objective proved far heavier than desired or expected, rendering the end hollow at best, pyrrhic at worst, so that victory was merely a token word to assuage the self. It was why so few actually fought for what they wanted, as few were confident enough without the knowledge of certain gain to balance out certain sacrifice. As much as one could plot and scheme to turn events to one's liking, it was still a gamble, with one only tending to prevail against the odds if providence proved more whimsical or benevolent than usual, allowing one to mostly avoid the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, the sea of troubles that plagued all human adventures, but particularly those militaristic in scope or design. Yet even with the blessings of fortune, it did not do to forget that one was still subject to the law of averages and cruel twists of fate.

'_I myself have no little experience with that…though had our gambit failed, things could have been worse…far, far worse…'_

So the exile was painfully reminded as he winced, barely holding back a hiss as delicate fingers brushed insistently against his wounded arm, tracing ruined flesh that had been cut open to the bone, mangled nearly beyond all hope of repair by White Ren's _**Sword of Execution**_, high-level thaumaturgy that created a 'blade' of creating extreme cold by forcibly initiating phase transition of solids and liquids into gasses.

As a result, it was utterly devastating to whatever it hit, destroying flesh, clothing, stone or even metal with the slightest touch, with only something designed to block such high-level magic capable of withstanding its power – something like Lelouch's staff, which, having the ability to absorb the prana of enemy attacks and weaken spells, had emerged unscathed from the altercation.

His arm was not as fortunate, a good portion of it having been immediately vaporized by White Ren's final attack, with what remained being twisted and blackened, flesh flash frozen and withered enough that he wasn't sure it could be healed. Hence, while others chatted, his injuries were being studied by the black-clad counterpart of the one who had so direly wounded him, with the petite succubus slightly smiling as her fingertips danced along the contours of the magus' body, the nagging pains of nicks and scrapes and bruises fading away at her touch. But Ren's expression hardened as she finished tending to his other wounds and moved onto his arm, with the blue-haired succubus frowning as the glow about her fingers changed from a calming azure to a more rosy hue.

"How long will _this_ injury take to heal?" Lelouch found himself asking the black cat, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. While he knew her to be proficient in the healing arts, as she had been the one to tend to his injuries in the past, he suspected that this level damage would prove more…troublesome than usual.

"…" was the reply as the succubus ceased her ministrations, shaking her head.

A long pause as Lelouch took in what that meant.

"…you can't heal it?"

The only response he received was another shake of the head as Ren gently touched the magus' arm just below the shoulder—

_Fzzt!_

—and severed the damaged arm without any warning whatsoever.

This time Lelouch did hiss, reeling away from the sudden amputation as he ended up on the ground with a jolt, eyes wide as the diminutive black-clad figure took his severed arm and curtseyed slightly before disappearing, sinking through the surface of an icy mirror with nary a ripple.

'_What the…why did she…'_

It took him a long minute to compose himself, more from mingled shock and loss of balance than from pain, as he had not expected Ren to simply cut off his arm like that. Looking over at where his missing limb had been showed he was not, in fact, bleeding to death, with the wound apparently cauterized in a way eerily similar to injuries caused by the _**Sword of Execution**_.

As he rose to his feet gingerly, Lelouch's thoughts turned to the uncanny resemblance between Ren and White Ren, making the magus more than a little curious (and wary) as to how the two succubi were related.

Mirror images of one another, they seemed, a study in contrasts. White and black variations – one to harm and one to heal, but both possessing powers stemming from dominion over ice and dreams, opposites but still very much alike, especially when someone was unwise to bring up (much less discuss) one in front of the other.

Even during his first encounter with Ren in the park outside the café (though he had merely thought of her as the girl in the garden of cats), the Lamperouge magus remembered all too well how the black-clad succubus glared daggers at him when he had commented on how pretty white cats were. It had seemed an odd, if unnerving, thing at the time, though now that he knew that White Ren was capable of transforming into a white cat—and had been the one he had complimented during that encounter—the animosity made a great deal more sense.

Little encounters over the several months of relative time only reinforced the impression that the two were not…on particularly good terms, and while he had thought both were rather pretty, he had come to understand at least part of why Ren disliked her white-clad counterpart so. Someone similar and yet so markedly different could definitely raise one's hackles—it was why he disliked Schneizel and the Emperor, after all.

'_Well, at least they're not the same person…,'_ Lelouch thought to himself, fortunately not knowing just how wrong he was, or how White Ren really was formed from the unused parts of Ren – her personality through the looking glass. '_I don't know if my mind could handle it if the same being who injured me was responsible for treating my injuries.'_

He suspected he would be rather unsettled if this turned out to be the case, though his mind pointed out that this wasn't how he reacted towards the Satsujinki, who was capable of both terrible violence and great compassion. Of course, the fact that Mana's deadly violence wasn't usually directed at him did make something of a difference, but…

Lelouch chuckled as he once again looked at his arm, a bit of dark amusement coming over him as he realized that he'd apparently be mirroring his partner in another way. She'd lost limbs before too, and yet had been able to procure replacements as good as the original in pretty much every way, as he knew full well from her touch. If he hadn't seen her after one of the battles in which she'd been literally disarmed, he'd never have known it. Truly magecraft was a powerful thing, a threat to common sense…

In both of their cases, injury had been something they had accepted, cold-bloodedly sacrificing a part of their bodies in order to close with her enemy and counterattack without hope of evasion or defense.

Risky, to be sure, but the only choice that would have allowed either of them the opening they needed against their respective foes. In this most recent case, Lelouch had had but one shot to pull off his gambit, carefully timed to coincide with the fall of White Ren's Reality Marble, before the succubus could regain her bearings or summon up a barrier to block his spell.

After summoning forth her snowy world and sealing away the magecraft of her opponents, White Ren had been utterly confident in her victory – and thus laid the foundations for her own defeat, as one was never so vulnerable as when one was certain of something, since one would usually stop checking to make sure one was correct and simply assume so.

Taking advantage of that small oversight, the two sworn to the Grey Witch had won, but in the wake of winning found it a peculiar thing, knowing that a time of great challenge had passed, that things were about to shift. Both of them knew, of course, that they had been put through an accelerated training regimen due to more than the kindness of the Wizard Marshal's heart, so there was no doubt some hidden purpose to all of this – a mission or stratagem in which the two were required.

Either that or Zelretch was doing this on behest of the Grey Witch, the First Magician, she who had once ruled as the Witch-Queen of Arche Koeln before the Five had their falling out.

But if this was so, then who was C.C.'s enemy? It couldn't simply the magi of the Clock Tower, given that from what he had learned, two of the three branches of the Association were in rebellion against it (and since the Dust of Osiris, the head of one of these branches, was quite deferential to the Wizard Marshal, Lelouch surmised that a Director of an Association paled in rank and power to one of the Five).

'_Five figures to guard five thrones –ancient seats of power representing those who wield the five miracles, surpassing the bounds of science and magecraft alike—those who once fought amongst themselves for power at the end of this civilization.'_

The Grey Witch, to his recollection, possessed the Magic called 'Denial of Nothingness', which she had said governed creation. To his knowledge, creation of matter and energy from nothing would violate the laws of conservation, but he supposed that that such a thing was to be expected of a miracle. He did wonder if this included the power to destroy with ease, for creation and destruction were intimately entwined and inseparable.

'_That would also explain why such an elaborate prison was needed to contain her,_' the magus mused, furrowing his brow at the pieces of the puzzle. _'A serial phantasm, an isolated pocket of space time severed from the usual flow, with her abilities restricted by an entropic field that required her to continue to focus just to exist. Unable to escape, except via a pact…'_

But what had been sacrificed in that pact? Lelouch found that he couldn't remember, with that part of his memory inaccessible. All he knew was the evidence of his senses, that when he encountered the Grey Witch in Shinjuku, she had been once more bound, and this time, when released, did not have quite the commanding presence he remembered from the dimensional prison, suggesting she may have weakened over the years. But even to have devised a way to contain her…did that mean whoever her enemy was knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of?

If so, this implied that her enemy was quite a potent threat—perhaps another of the True Magicians, or at least an ancient Dead Apostle who knew of her talents and was powerful enough to wish to use her as a experimental subject. But if her enemy was indeed a True Magician, which would it be? Not the Second, since the Wizard seemed to be on good terms with the Grey Witch, and most likely not the Fourth or Fifth, as they had been fought long ago—and he doubted that C.C. would have let them live after their treachery. The Third, however, was an interesting possibility, as Materialization of the Soul might explain how Bradley had acquired his more unnatural abilities.

'_A Sorcerer in Britannia…_,' he thought to himself, rather disturbed by the thought. The last time Sorcerers fought amongst themselves, a civilization had fallen– would that be the case with this conflict as well? One that threatened to embroil the world…

While he had never had the privilege of witnessing or engaging C.C. (or any other Sorcerer) in combat before, if the Second's impressive abilities were anywhere near standard for Sorcerers, odds were good that the result of a clash would result in great destruction. How much was uncertain, but it didn't really matter what the outcome might be.

He had sworn an oath under Gaia to be C.C.'s ally in this conflict, and Mana had been chosen as C.C.'s Knight. Their roles were set, and there could be—would be—no turning back.

The exile shook his head wearily, his thoughts turning to more pressing matters, such as what had happened in the span of time he had been absent from the outside world, unable to respond as the repercussions of the Tokyo Tower incident played themselves out over time.

Had the Britannians retaliated to salve their pride, as he thought was likely? If so, what had they chosen to do?

He knew from experience that the Britannia was capable of ordering terrible things done in the name of justice, though few enough on either side really fought for that imaginary ideal. People fought for things like honor, vengeance, self-righteousness, the desperate desire to prove oneself superior by eliminating rival points of view; they didn't want things to be fair as much as they wanted to win.

That was a human truth, after all, shown on all levels of humanity from the schoolyard to the battlefield: the human urge to twist and destroy sublimated under other labels, buried under layers of prejudice and twisted modes of thought, so that they could sleep at night and not think about the consequences of their own deeds.

As he sometimes thought when one official or another made ridiculous statements to sate the whims of the people, one could not bring someone to justice when one had no justice, but it didn't matter to most people, as words such as justice, tragedy, honor, glory were such convenient fictions to use to convince themselves of the rightness of their varied causes.

The exiled prince had no illusions about whether or not what he was doing was right – he knew full well that his methods were evil, and that some would see his goals too as blasphemy. He didn't care – if that was that it took to fight Britannia, to destroy his enemy, then that was what he would do. For the power to determine his course, he would do anything, even sell his very soul…

'_And on the note of those seeking revenge…'_

A bit of movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see the killer named Shiki Nanaya stalking over to the Dust of Osiris with predatory grace, with the assassin simply picking up and slinging the protesting alchemist over his shoulder as he left the Void Shrine, a smirk upon the Nanaya's face.

Elsewhere in the room, he spotted Mana speaking with two of their trainers – the fire magus Azaka Kokutou and the psychic Fujino Asagami, the body language and words of the trio rather familiar. It obviously wasn't the first time they had met, and though he had questions, he didn't want to interrupt, given that he had some suspicions about how the three of them were related. The psychic and the flame magus were comfortable enough with one another that one might think them lovers, and given how closely Mana resembled the flame magus (and how she had used Cocteau…or was it Kokutou…as a cover name), they seemed almost sisters.

Oddly enough, he felt strangely pleasant at the sight of his accomplice's smile, an ironic, wry twist of her lips that was unexpectedly reassuring, despite his current pains, and her terrifying ability to end the existence of whatever she wished with a stab of her knife. Despite being able to see the fragility of the world, knowing how easily everything could break, everything could shatter.

He was snapped from his reverie as Mana staggered, reeling, as every part of her body contorted in purest agony, her usually composed face anything but calm as a violent maelstrom of emotions played across her features.

Lelouch made to run to her side, but he too was frozen in place by a chill like being dunked in liquid nitrogen. He couldn't move at all, a freezing gale cutting into the marrow of his bones, poison running through his veins, his flesh, his nerves as every scrap of joy in the world was drained away, the world spinning, spinning, spinning…

"Ma…na…" he barely managed to croak, forcing his fingers to—

It was meaningless, as the exile went limp, collapsing on the chamber floor, with the Satsujinki's body sagging, a rattle leaving her throat as she crumpled moments later, and all gave way to darkness.

* * *

**Black Knights' Safehouse, Warehouse District, Tokyo Settlement**

After the operation against the Britannian Military earlier that day, Kallen Kozuki, part time student and resistance fighter was exhausted and rather uneasy as she paced the confines of the warehouse Zero had arranged as a gather point for the Black Knights. Neither was she the only one who felt this way, as a heaviness hung in the air, an ominous feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Minami, Yoshida, and Tamaki were dead—and that was just the few she knew personally, since many others had fallen, rebel and civilian alike. Others were wounded – though among those who had made it out, most wounds were not too severe.

This was not for the reason that some had not taken serious injuries such as losing limbs or bullet wounds to the gut, but for the fact that most of those who had been that badly injured were dead, having sacrificed themselves to prevent their retreat from becoming a rout, allowing those with a better chance of survival to escape to safety.

'_Well, what safety exists these days…,'_ Kallen thought, looking upon the remnants of those who had gone into battle on behalf of the Knights, watching as many of the injured were being treated, broken bones being set, bullet wounds patched up, shrapnel removed, lesser wounds treated with bandages, gauze, and stitches when necessary. The more fortunate ones had fallen asleep, their snores and quiet breathing mixing with the whimpers and muffled sobs of others. Those not as fortunate were shellshocked, curled up into little balls of woe as they rocked back and forth in place, their eyes staring into the distance, seeing nothing. .

A few, mostly the leadership of the Black Knights and the Yamato Alliance, were awake and walking around, tired, haggard, and grim as they looked around, reminding themselves that Britannia had not emerged unscathed either, though it was hard, given how much suffering they were seeing firsthand.

Realistically, their intervention had managed to save quite a few lives, but to be honest, it didn't feel that way. They had only managed to evacuate a few from Chiyoda, losing many of their own people in the process, without being able to do anything to counter the Britannians in Shinjuku. And there were no survivors from Saitama that the Knights were aware of, given that it had been leveled, reduced to rubble by aerial bombardment.

To most, the annihilation of the Saitama ghetto would have been crippling to morale, a powerful symbol of the overwhelming military might of Britannia.

…except of course that the division of the Britannian army sent to suppress Saitama would have been destroyed in the downpour of heavy ordinance, if they weren't already dead beforehand, and further, Governor General and Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley was dead, killed along with the military command staff of Area 11.

There had been massive shock and confusion in the enemy ranks after that, allowing the Black Knights their final chance to disengage from Chiyoda with the majority of their forces intact.

'_It's true. We didn't get away unscathed,' _Kallen allowed, a dark expression coming over her. '_But we didn't lose. And we repaid the Britannians for every one of us that fell in blood.'_

…though they had not heard from Zero.

Zero, who had planned the operation. Zero, who had personally gone to Saitama to deal with the Britannians – and had apparently done quite well until they decided to destroy everything. Zero, who had helped them to accomplish a minor miracle.

Zero, who she knew was Lelouch, the man responsible for two Britannian reversals, and who worked closely with the Grey Witch.

'_Not that I really care about him—it's just that morale will go down if he's done something as stupid as dying.'_

She sighed, her footsteps halted as she came to a vehicle in the corner of the warehouse that served as their hideout, opening the door to find Ohgi and a few others clustered around the television, watching the news of a "terrorist" attack at Lake Kawaguchi, where elements of the Japanese Liberation Front had attacked the hotel, taken hostages…and had been eliminated by a Britannian missile strike.

Britannia did not negotiate with terrorists, after all.

'_No…it can't be…'_

A dagger of ice bloomed in Kallen's heart as recalled where the Ashford Student Council had gone to escape the dangers of the settlement during the operation, and her legs threatened to buckle as she staggered to a chair.

'_What do we do now…Zero…?'_

* * *

**Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 94_

Sounds of water echoed in a cavernous room as Mana Ryougi sat nude and alone in a bathtub filled with warm water, eyes closed and head bowed, hugging her knees close to her body in an effort to keep herself from shaking, to keep her emotions from running rampant by willing them away, by surrounding herself with warmth, closing her eyes, and trying to pretend that she hadn't lost one of the only people in the world she gave a damn about anymore.

It didn't work, but then it never had, as there was a certain burden to being a Chokushi no Magan adept that most did not even realize existed. Those that knew of powers of the Satsujinki tended to think only about the sheer lethality of her, how nothing was safe if she came after it, given that all things could crumble, all things could break—but none appreciated how this power ate away at the human psyche, at one's capacity to feel anything.

Living beings were hardwired to run away from what they perceived as death in whatever way they could, be it physical flight, denial, avoidance of a topic – but Mana did not have that option, forced to face the cold, stark reality of death every moment she was alive.

Death was all around her, and she perceived death as readily as others saw color or movement, recognized the sound of water or their reflection, understood it in her marrow as others knew warmth or human emotions. It wore on her day by day, and though she was capable of suppressing it on a conscious level, there was always a part of her, a basic animal instinct, that was aware of how close she walked with to the void every second of every day, knowing all how uncertain and fragile every moment was, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, knowing how all existence could perish with a touch.

The world seemed to crack and break apart under her feet, the air to scatter, all those around her to die as her mind told her how weak everything was, how useless it was to try and make anything lasting. For nothing could last in this world—whether herself, other people, or reality itself, everything would break in the end, so what was the point?

Such bonds would bring nothing but pain in the end, and so she kept herself distant from most people, keeping her emotions controlled, keeping herself aloof, hardly recognizing her memories as her own, for the new awareness made the life she had before almost alien.

The only one she allowed herself to draw close to was the Grey Witch, whose death alone she could not perceive. C.C. had saved her life a long time ago, pulling her back from the void with threads of the immortal's lifeforce, bringing her full into this world of nightmares…serving as her sister/mother figure for years, the only companion she had.

While First Magician lived, the soul-link established between them remained intact, one of the few reassurances the Satsujinki had that reality would not simply splinter to pieces, that even if everyone else in the world were to die, someone would remain. It had helped one to find the other multiple times, and had served to assuage her anxieties in the early months, the solidity of it serving as an anchor for her sanity.

Now it was broken, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that C.C. was dead, with the only certainty she had possessed since her coma, when she had lost everything else to Britannia, gone, leaving her more alone than ever in a world of pain.

Pain all over, phantom pains continuing to run haywire through her nerves, not fading, not going away. Any motion – breathing, moving her eyes, blinking, twitching, anything at all hurt, a side effect of her current condition as she feared that everything else would crumble to dust, for psychologically, it was harder to control her power when she was unstable.

Footsteps. Someone else had entered the room behind her, the quiet sound of the intruder's motions indicating someone light on his feet but unbalanced, as if the weight on one side was unequal to that of the other, approaching her, and stopping. Whoever it was, he was looking at her, his pulse and breathing had quickened slightly, and she could smell a distinctly male bouquet of odors.

"What do you want, Lelouch?" the Satsujinki asked tiredly, her voice barely audible as she sat unmoving in the water.

"Mana…are you…" the exile began, but stopped, knowing how foolish of a question that was, given that she had felt something like he had, but worse, if her condition was any indication. "Is the—"

"And what could you do if I was not?" Mana interrupted, with a hollow whisper, empty as the void itself.

"I—"

"If you get close to me, I will kill you," the assassin said with an air of absolute certainty, so much so that Lelouch was jolted by it, though he blinked as he sensed no anger in her words, no murderous impulse, just a sense of sadness, resignation.

He needed clarification.

"Wh—"

"Do not get the wrong idea, Lelouch…I am not warning you because I dislike you," Mana elaborated, her lips attempting to curl up at the edges but failing. "It is a simple thing – in my current state, I cannot completely control my eyes, and if you approach me, you will most likely die."

A step forward…and then another.

"Please, I do not want to hurt you."

He was her partner, someone who had walked by her side during the harsh training, who had put his life in her hands more than once. Someone who she thought would trust her. So why didn't he trust her now when she said she couldn't control herself?

Another step forward.

Killing intent washed over him, nearly enough to drive the magus to his knees, but Lelouch would not falter, fighting back the urge to flee by taking _yet another step forward_.

'_What is he thinking? Does he have a secret death wish?'_

"Lelouch, do you not understand that—"

A final step, and Mana stiffened as the exiled prince touched her, setting a hand on her shoulder, the warmth and feel of another human nearly overwhelming to her.

"_Why? _Why did you not?_"_

'_Why did he not run away?'_

Stupid, stupid, stupid – why had he ignored her? The moment she opened her eyes and looked at him, accidentally gave into the urge for comfort, he'd die. In her hands, nothing was safe after all.

The Ryougi began to tremble, her body wracked with suppressed emotions as she dared not move from her position, lest she do something foolish. She redoubled her shroud of killing intent to try and push him away, to make him leave, but though his legs gave out beneath him and his body shook like a leaf in the wind, he did not.

"Mana…"

She didn't answer, hoping that he would take the hint.

"Mana…"

"…_what?"_ the Ryougi breathed, exasperated by Lelouch's refusal to do as she asked. It wasn't a complicated thing, and it wasn't for her sake. She just wanted him to—

"Look at me," the exile murmured silkily, leaning close to her, his hand pulling her hair aside and brushing the line of her jawbone as he gently touched her chin.

'_No…I can't. I have to…'_

"Please."

Such sincerity shook her beyond anything Lelouch could know, sorely tempting her to do exactly as he asked. But she didn't want to hurt him, so the Satsujinki put a hand over his, otherwise, not moving from her spot.

"Lelouch, I—"

"Trust me," the exile said simply, and this time, Mana let him guide her face towards him. She opened her eyes to see exactly what she had feared – the body of Lelouch, like the rest of the room, covered in the scribbles of lines and points of death. "You _can_ control your eyes."

She was about to say otherwise, that she didn't want to see the lines at the moment but still did…but was stunned when the lines and points faded from her vision.

"What did…" The Ryougi didn't complete her statement, as she knew, recognizing the language in which he had spoken – a language unlike any upon the Earth today, able to compel unless one it as well. She looked at the Lamperouge magus for a few long minutes. "Why did…"

He could have used that ability to give her any command at all – even to just keep her from seeing his lines at all to make her feel better, making him immune to her power in the guise of helping her, so why had he instead done something that…

"C.C. may be gone, but we are both still here," the exile said simply, his purple eyes boring into her blue. "And that means that we are not alone, because we have each other as we walk upon this path, my dear accomplice."

Mana's breath hitched, and she flinched away from Lelouch's touch and gaze as if stung, moving further in the water, her footsteps obviously unsteady. It hurt, but she moved away from him all the same.

"I cannot trust mere words, Lelouch," she said, her body shaking as she tried not to cry. How long had it been since anyone had said such things to her? How long had it been since anyone actually meant such things? "Words are fleeting things, even more so than our lives…"

But the Lamperouge magus was not dissuaded, and followed her, stepping into the water, and taking her trailing hand in his only one.

"Then I will offer you a deal, a Contract, inviolable under Gaia," the Black Prince said softly but firmly, like the sea itself, opening his circuits as he reached deep into his core. "In place of the Grey Witch, I will be your warlock – even if the world itself becomes your enemy, I will be your ally."

"You wished to escape inevitability, struggled that you would have the power to change your path – and you're throwing that away?" Mana murmured softly, feeling the warmth of Lelouch's prana leak into the air and into her. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Only a moment of hesitation before Lelouch spoke, his voice distant, lost in memories.

"…for most of my life, I have been powerless, forced to endure infinite loss without gain, humiliation without end," the magus related solemnly. "Until the day when you and C.C. appeared, and I began to live by different rules, different time, a different life…a road that both of us have walked together. That is why I am yours, if you will have me."

"Fine," the Ryougi intoned, taking a deep breath as she let his words sink in. "Then in my turn, I will be your ally, walking with you on this road—and even if you become the world's enemy, I will be your knight."

"This is our Contract," Lelouch repeated, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you accept?"

"…yes," she whispered, gasping as she felt a thin thread of life force gently brush her like a kiss, body quaking as everything that was suppressed began to reveal itself, in great, heaving spasms, and Lelouch put a gentle arm around her – offering the Satsujinki what comfort he could, as they stood there, two people unused to human touch or companionship holding each other and crying, bonded by mutual loss.

She wept silently, but he could feel her every sob and tremor against his chest, felt it echo in time with the anguished emptiness he felt inside. Both of them hurt, both of them had known great pain and suffering in their time, but for the moment, neither were alone.

* * *

**V.V.'s Atelier, Pendragon Imperial Palace**

In the center of a vast cavern hundreds of meters beneath the bustling capital of the Holy Britannian Empire, an eternally young boy with blond hair longer than his body stood silent as he stood before a now dim scrying window, processing the information he had gained from those connected to him, not knowing whether to be pleased, furious, or merely annoyed.

On one hand, he was moderately pleased that his familiar Anya Alstreim (who incidentally happened to be the Knight of Six) had successfully slain the Grey Witch, the greatest thorn in his side in his struggle reach Akasha, mortally wounding her with Harpe – a wound from which she could not recover. He had commended her for this, though now, some time after she had broken the connection, certain details of the report nagged at him, as they tended to do so whenever C.C. was involved.

Against Anya, the Witch had only projected one Noble Phantasm, and not an immensely powerful one at that, which seemed odd, given that she should have the prana for such a thing. Instead, from the reports, she had drawn Black Keys as her primary armament, conceptual weapons capable of binding shadows – or of dealing extra damage to inhuman beings such as demonic familiars. But more than that, they were weapons associated with the Church's Executors and Burial Agents, suggesting that his suspicions about the First Magician having received help from the Burial Agency and the Euro Universe were correct.

Either that or C.C. was intending to mislead him and create more enemies for him to fight, but given that Cornelia li Britannia already had orders to attack the Euro Universe, it would be a minor matter to send some specialists to help deal with the Vatican.

The young immortal coveted their stash of powerful relics and Noble Phantasms, after all, seeing as he was no wily Faker like his ancient enemy, a deceitful woman who lied at every opportunity, ensorcelling the unwary with clever words and false assurances that she would aid them, before ultimately betraying them in the end, as everything she touched was eventually destroyed.

But this time, he had managed to crush her first, and with his main opponent gone from the battlefield, he rather suspected that things would be easier…though he could be not be completely sure that the First Magic was gone from the world, given that in the aftermath of Anya's attack on C.C., his familiar had been unable to recover fragments of the Witch's Code, even when she had searched for it with her invasive Shadow magecraft.

This suggested two possibilities – that what had been killed was merely one of the Witch's puppet bodies (unlikely, as that would require a specialized workshop, as well as the fact that her puppets were not capable of high-level projection), or that the Code had been passed on, which was another issue in itself, as he did not know the transfer mechanism that would have been used. If it had passed on, had the World merely taken the Code as payment for some debt, or had she consciously willed it to another?

'_How I despise unexpected variables from _that woman_ –she does not even have the dignity to die without being a thorn in my side…'_

Much like Atlas itself still continued to be a thorn in his side, even after its main facilities had been destroyed, as they had apparently managed to convince Nrvnqsr Chaos, the Dead Apostle Ancestor once been called Fabro Rowan, to strike at several of the occupation airbases in Area 18, if video footage of black beasts tearing into his aerial battleships was anything to go by.

'_I will need to dispatch Directorate assassins to be rid of him – or hope Cornelia can take care of that task as well…'_

A new batch of vampiric homunculi (besides Mao, who had shown…quite useful results) needed to be battle tested, after all, and who better to test them against than a Dead Apostle? But perhaps it would be better to have the Witch of Britannia handle the matter, as she did have a battalion of mage knights at her beck and call…and a reputation for success against all odds.

She had once commanded the Glaston Knights as well, the adopted children of Andreas Darlton, though those had been neutralized during an attack on Atlas, the organization that the Witch had founded long ago, with the most recent director, the Dust of Osiris, proving every bit as devious and infuriating as the First – even down to being as difficult to locate

Other news from Area 11 proved grimmer, as both the Knight of Ten, a powerful Ghost Liner familiar, and the Dead Apostle Rolo Haliburton, his most loyal servant, had been killed – the former by a powerful magical explosion that erased him from existence, and the other having been slain by two powerful magi.

The last memories his vampiric familiar had sent over their link had revealed his assailants to be a young blonde magus who quite adept at wind manipulation and a black-cloaked figure with a flaming sword and golden eyes.

He had some suspicions as far as the identity of the blonde, and had sent Anya to investigate, but troublingly, he knew of no outstanding flame-users who should be able to fight off a Dead Apostle – much one who wielded golden flames powerful enough to completely destroy vampire without heed to the curse of restoration. Rolo would have shrugged off normal fire or low-level magecraft, so this level of destruction suggested either a rogue magus with more intelligence on the movements of the irregulars than anyone had a right to know, or an active demon hunter with a conceptual weapon of some kind.

'_Possibly that the Witch has been watching me for a very long time…with agents of her own loose. As ancient as she is, that should be no surprise, yet she still manages to surprise me now and then'_

* * *

**Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 98_

"Careful – not so rough, Lelouch," Mana chided, as the exile's hand roamed over curves and contours of her naked body, sliding down her arms, along her sides, kneading the flesh of her tense shoulders and feeling every inch of her that she allowed.

"Sorry, it's my first time doing this with one hand," the magus said sheepishly, his hand ceasing its errant motions for a moment as his tone turned more sardonic. "...and you're not exactly helping by not allowing me to see what I'm doing."

"Yes, I can certainly tell that much…" Mana quipped, her voice wry with a hint of teasing. "Oh, but you want to look, don't you?"

A quiet snort of amusement.

"Could you blame me if I did?" Lelouch asked, hand moving up to the blindfold that she had insisted he wear…for the experience, as it were.

"I suppose not, given that you are a male and I am hardly your sister now am I?" she said as a statement of fact, remaining still to see what he would do next. "Or does that really make a difference, since the royal family is rather known for its incestuous behavior?"

Lelouch sighed, thinking back to the frantic days of hiding and deception after Japan fell to Britannian forces seven years ago, and how he had had to take care of his sister, becoming so overprotective of her that some would think there was something improper going on. And then he thought a bit further back to his childhood days, when his half-sister Euphemia li Britannia and his sister Nunnally had argued over who was going to be his bride.

The soft splashing of water filled air hazy with steam in an underground bathing chamber, as two figures sat together in a pool fed by a hot spring, helping one another to get the troublesome spots, given that one was still dealing with the aftereffects of adapting to a replacement arm, while the other was still missing a limb. Something of an intimate moment, but a necessary one, and they were already quite used to being around each other, especially as they had hardly left one another's sides for the last few day equivalents, keeping each other company and lending support.

"Heh, well…I wouldn't really need to, given that…"

He trailed off, wincing under his blindfold at the thought of what his accomplice might do to him if she knew that with him having linked his consciousness to the steam and water in the room to alert him of intruders, he could feel every bit of her submerged and not, every contour, every curve without even touching her.

"…given that you already have a good idea?" Mana noted, shaking her head. She was silent for a long moment, as if deciding what to do. "Fine then…take it off."

Lelouch's eyebrows shot up towards the ceiling at her statement.

"…are you sure?"

"…well, I suppose it would be fair, since I have seen you, and you have already seen all there is to see, so…"

The comment weighed heavily on the both of them, with their proximity to one another's nearly nude forms making things somewhat more difficult.

"…as you wish then, _Lady Mana_," the magus said in a slightly mocking tone, removing his blindfold only to find the Satsujinki nose to nose with him, glaring at him.

"…_Don't. Call. Me. That_," she stated, biting off each word and lacing each with enough killing intent to make even the exile flinch, thoroughly cowed.

The Ryougi held his gaze for a minute, then turned away, presenting the expanse of her back to her companion, and Lelouch wisely decided to keep his mouth shut for a while as he washed her back, as fingers gliding across smooth and supple flesh, stroking, kneading knots and kinks of tension from shoulders, a tiny gasp escaping lips as magic fingers did their work, tracing scars, examining the join of arm and body, thoroughly massaging her scalp as he washed her hair, with the ruthless murderer warm and wet and pliant beneath him for the first time.

The exile touched the assassin respectfully, almost reverent, as he finished up, tracing the scars on Mana's body and her replacement arm, since it would be something like what he would be receiving, he imagine.

She stiffened slightly as he touched the puppet limb, causing Lelouch to pause.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, it's just…that's the first time someone's touched it since it was replaced again…it's still sensitive from phantom pain," Mana related, looking back at Lelouch's stump speculatively. "You'll probably have to deal with hypersensitivity for about two weeks yourself."

"…all things considered, a minor price to pay."

"Well, the Wizard Marshal is paying for it, else Touko's services can be quite expensive."

"You are familiar with the puppetmaster?" the magus asked, curious as to just how deeply she was connected with the world of magecraft and other such things.

"One tends to be, when limb-risking injuries run in the family," Mana replied dryly, shaking her head as she remembered her mother and how she too had needed Touko's services…though the incarnation of Akasha had worked for Touko at the time, so the limbs were more or less her pay.

"…is this condition contagious?" Lelouch answered in quite the same tone. "I don't remember losing many limbs until I met you, after all."

"Well, powerless corpses don't remember much, do they?"

He winced at the reminder of his past state, but there was no real sting in her tone, so he let it past.

After a while, he finished and turned about, showing Mana his back, since it was rather more difficult for him to properly wash himself with only one arm.

"…I apologize for earlier," he said as she moved to work on him. "Bad memories, I suppose?"

"I simply do not like to be reminded of certain things in the past," the assassin bluntly replied, something Lelouch could well sympathize with. "Especially those which are no longer here…"

When he had first met the Satsujinki, he didn't think he would ever feel entirely comfortable with his back to her, yet he found himself enjoying her ministrations, quite aware of her heartbeat and the feel of her hands, roughened from combat. Here and there, their bodies brushed up against one another, especially as Mana leaned forward to wash Lelouch's arm, noting the scars he bore from shrapnel and from not being quite fast enough to avoid White Ren's blades.

"Not so rough – that's still sensitive!" Lelouch hissed, wincing as Mana moved onto the stump of his severed arm.

"And here I thought men were supposed to be the tough ones?" the Ryougi heiress asked ironically. Both of them knew perfectly well who was the stronger between the two of them – or at least, who was the stronger in different areas.

"Touché," Lelouch sighed, admitting she had a point. "But I didn't grow up a demon hunter, either."

"…no," Mana allowed darkly after a drawn-out silence. "I suppose you didn't. Maybe that's why you're so well-adjusted."

The exile barely managed to stifle a laugh, though it turned into a coughing fit instead, with the Satsujinki hitting him between the shoulder blades in case he had choked on something.

"Or perhaps that is why we are both a little odd," Mana corrected herself, a smile flickering on her lips for a moment before it died again.

"That…sounds…a bit more accurate," Lelouch wheezed, finally getting his breath under control. "In the end, we do make quite the odd pair, don't we? A prince and a beautiful assassin seeking the destruction of an empire, not for power, or other gain, but revenge…"

"Don't think flattery will get you anywhere."

* * *

**Mt. Fuji**

Kohaku Fujou exited the council chambers of the shelter within Mt. Fuji, where the remaining members of Six Houses of Kyoto had gathered to discuss a letter from no less a personage than the Puppetmaster herself, of the family which had once administered the spiritual land of Japan. The contents had been rather straightforward at first, sympathizing with the situation of those caught in Britannia's schemes and requesting assistance to help deal with it. The unusual part was that it had referred to the demon hybrids of the Kyoto House by name, as well as to a certain demon hunter family, something that unsettled the amber-eyed maid.

She walked briskly down a lesser used tunnel, and took a platform down several levels to the antechamber of the workshop she shared with her twin sister Hisui, who was apparently within the main chamber working on something, given that the more powerful wards were being used.

With a sigh, Kohaku drew the sword from within her broom and held the flat against the bounded field for a moment, with the field weakening just enough to allow her to pass. She did so, entering the main work area and sheathing her sword, her curiosity piqued at the sight before her.

The blonde mage she had rescued from the Dead Apostle earlier was floating in the air, her nude form surrounded by a circle of levitating ofuda and ethereal Torii, as a redhead dressed in a white and red miko outfit moved about the edge of the impromptu circle, channeling energy through a great mirror she carried in one hand into the girl, powerful magecraft rippling throughout the room.

'_Ah, Hisui-chan was always the better medium between us...I make a better killer so that Hisui-chan doesn't have to deal with such things, fufu…'_

Kohaku watched as the ritual went on for a few more minutes, until at last, the body of the mage was levitated into one of the torii, which froze in the air and leaned down onto a waiting futon before dissipating.

"Nee-san," Hisui greeted simply, businesslike as always. She had grown quite detached from life after the Britannian invasion, when Akiha and SHIKI perished, and Hisui herself had been blinded. Kohaku had been out of the mansion on an errand, which is how she had escaped injury—and she would never forget how she had returned to find the mangled bodies of the Tohno heirs, and her sister screaming in pain. "I have completed the healing ritual."

"Ah, good job Hisui-chan. How is our vict—guest's condition?"

"She will not awaken soon – perhaps not at all, but she will not die either," the younger of the twins replied, nodding to her elder sister as futon and occupant were put into a corner of the room, with ofuda surrounding it to isolate it from the outside. "The poison has been purged."

In the aftermath of the invasion, Kohaku had sought out Sougen Jinan, a former member of an organization that had monitored the demon hybrids, for any assistance – and he had provided her with information about her family – the Fujou, an ancient bloodline of magi specializing in two things – acting as a medium and the use of curses, with a special psychic ability that granted a superior view of the world at the expenses of causing blindness—something like clairvoyance, bypassing the eyes entirely.

Given that Hisui had already been blinded by shrapnel during the attack, this seemed a good enough tradeoff, and so Kohaku had read these books to Hisui, assisting her with the rituals and training needed to unlock her latent abilities. It took three years of Kohaku going around the country, "collecting" artifacts and relics—the most powerful of which included her sword (the Kogitsunemaru, "Little Fox", which had the ability to manipulate fire and wind, as it had been crafted to match the Ama-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi, a blade tired to Amaterasu herself), a Kaleidostick (acquired, along with katana training, from the First Magician and the last Ryougi in return for a future favor), and lastly, the Yata no Kagami – the divine repository of Amaterasu (_recovered_ from the ruins of the Ise Shrine).

The "Eight Hands Mirror" was the relic that Hisui drew powerful from, gaining her clairvoyance the first time she was able to tap into the sliver of divine power stored there, cementing her as the better spiritual medium between the two of them , quite adept at evoking the power within. Since then, she had acquired other mirrors, which floated around her, defending her from harm or attacking her enemies as she wished, as well as allowing her to access the Yata no Kagami's power from a distance via the law of similarity.

Her techniques involved mostly illusion, hypnosis, and healing, abilities sharply boosted by her link to the Yata no Kagami, including a spell that creates the illusions of inextinguishable flames on a target's body…with any damage done by the illusion quite real to the target and capable of killing, only negated by prana, magic resistance or moving out of the caster's sight.

Hisui was initially horrified at seeing someone burn to death, while Kohaku had thought it wonderful for self defense, since Hisui needed something to protect herself from enemies if she couldn't be around. Kohaku's own abilities were slightly different, as she had proven better with curses and attack magic, with her blade amplifying her fire and lightning affinities, as well as slicing through illusions with ease.

"Nee-san."

"Yes, Hisui-chan?" Kohaku asked, though she soon looked up, the hair on the nape of her neck standing on end as a Torii materialized in midair, with a mirror-like sheen within its inner portal. She frowned, tensing for battle if whatever came through proved hostile. "Be careful…"

'_How did they get past the wards?' _she wondered, since she knew full well the power of the Yata no Kagami when it was used for bounded fields.

"Nee-san, I think…"

But the medium trailed off as she saw a ghost of the past step through the torii into their workshop, and Kohaku did the same, recognizing him instantly – the rogue Demon Hunter who had killed Makihisa Tohno, who had freed her from her torments and awakened her to the beauty of killing, a young man who haunted her dreams each night.

"Shiki…san…"

* * *

**Millennium Castle, Θ Setting Eternity's Night Moon  
**_Day Equivalent 98_

The room was dark but warm, a hint of rosemary in the air by virtue of the crackling fire, silent enough save for the sound of the occupants' breathing and their heartbeats, the two of them spooning after a hot bath, skin to skin, entwined beneath comfortable satin sheets, feeling the reassuring warmth of one another's bodies to offset the chilly backlash of a close brush with death.

It was nothing carnal, really, which might have come as a surprise to rumormongers who enjoyed (fictional) tales of the Lamperouge magus' amorous exploits, but not to the two of them, as they simply didn't want to be alone with their thoughts – and they thought the other would understand. They had already lived in conditions of enforced intimacy and had nothing to be shy about with one another, for when each had only the other, such formalities were quickly enough forgotten.

And so they lay in bed together, talking about various things before the morrow, when they would be separated. Each of them had a role to play in the upcoming conflict, but surprisingly, neither was too apprehensive. They would do what they had set out to – there was no other choice.

"How is your new arm?" the Satsujinki asked quietly, with Lelouch flexing it and finding it distinctly odd—even hypersensitive, as she had warned, able to feel textures and temperatures with extreme acuity, though pain was also an issue.

"Could be worse," Lelouch replied, stilling the limb and doing his best to suppress a certain physiological reaction that teenage males sometimes found inconvenient, even embarrassing. It hadn't been an issue before, but then it didn't tend to be when both of them were more worried about the possibility of an impending attack, constantly on guard against enemies. "And yours?"

"Better."

"I'm glad."

"Are you?"

This night though, like those that had preceded it, was different, as neither were in danger, their minds drifting only between the past and the present, with the occasional thought of what might come on the morrow.

Eventually, Lelouch's mind found itself drifting to half-remembered vestiges of Mana's touch lingering on his flesh from the dream and from the bath incidents: the sensation of her breasts as she embraced him or accidentally brushed against him, her surprising softness of her lips on his, the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her hands, the captivating scent and taste and feel of her supple body. It was as vivid as a little over a month ago, when White Ren had pulled her little dream stunt that unfortunately seemed more than a dream, and in a situation that reminded him of that…

Mana stiffened for a moment as she felt Lelouch's manhood harden rather involuntarily, pressing rather insistently against her shapely backside, and then relaxed, raising an eyebrow.

"All in all, I suppose I should take that as a compliment, magus Lamperouge," the Satsujinki quipped, a hint of mischief in her voice.

A momentary pause as Lelouch swallowed. The last time he'd been in a situation like this, Mana had been poised over him, fingers at his lines of death, so why did he feel so comfortable now?

"And why is that, praytell?" he asked.

"Why? While your taste for crossdressing sometimes brings it into question, you are certainly a male," she murmured, a trace of humor in her voice. "And as you are rather…striking by some standards, the fact that you are attracted to me is not entirely unpleasant."

"Thank you ever so much for qualifying those statements," Lelouch muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"With you, everything has to be qualified." She was more serious this time, glancing over her shoulder to censure him with a serious look. "After all, you are the prince of lies, are you not?"

"Hmph, you may have a point there…" Lelouch conceded. "Still—"

"May?" Slightly on the acerbic side this time. "Ask yourself how you fare as a magus and…"

Mana trailed off, letting Lelouch draw his own conclusions. It only took a beat before he did, a soft, rueful laugh, escaping his lips.

"…you _do_ have a point then," the exile admitted with a heavy air. "As much as I wish for the power to change my course, I haven't really changed. In a sense, training me has been a waste of resources, for I have not yet gained that I need. Actions have consequences, and what I have done has led only to a trail of blood, yet even so, I cannot turn back."

"That's not true at all," the Ryougi said after a moment, her voice low and reproachful. "Don't lie to yourself, Lelouch…you are a better person than you think."

The assassin's words shook him, as he furrowed his brow, puzzled by how she might think so.

"… I'm honored, but what are you basing that on, Mana?"

"You don't fight beside someone for a month, back to back, watching them, relying on them, without learning what they're like, L.L. As much self-loathing as you have for yourself, as much as you don't care if you live or die, as much as you believe you deserve to suffer as a burden – you did watch my back, and fended for yourself. What's more, you strive for a goal – to create a gentler world. You are not like me… I only wish for vengeance against the ones who have taken everything from me."

The last part came out as a quiet admission, powerful in its frankness.

"…perhaps I am better than I think, but I am not nearly as good as you believe. To defeat a greater evil, I will become evil if it is necessary – you and I are very much alike, warlock and assassin. Shades of grey, stark against the bone-white of death…"

" …you can honestly say that after I nearly killed you a month ago?"

A month ago, in the aftermath of the Dream incident instigated by White Ren, in which both of them had experienced a threesome involving them and C.C., Mana had come to his room and awoken him with her fingers resting on his line of death. They had become very much aware of that in the morning after…

"But you didn't, as my presence here indicates," Lelouch said with an air of finality. "Even if…"

"Yes, I can feel your _'presence' _quite well, thank you," Mana whispered, turning away from him. "To be honest, I remember that night too…and I suppose I didn't hate it."

"Oh?"

"I'm actually surprised you aren't tempted to go further right now," she chuckled briefly as she relaxed, settling against him, so what he could feel her voice as much as hear it. "…or do you think I'd stop you?"

"Oh, I'm certainly tempted," Lelouch related softly, though his expression smoothed. "But it isn't what you really want right now, is it?"

"…and what is it that I want, Lelouch?" the Satsujinki asked with a hint of challenge.

"Simply what you have always wanted: not to be alone…."

A quirk of lips, as the prince's arms slipped around the murderess' waist, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her closer to him. She considered resisting, but just sighed, accepting the comfort of someone's touch as she relaxed against him, leaning her back on his chest.

"It seems you know me well, Lelouch…"

"As I should, dear assassin. You don't fight beside someone for a month, back to back, watching them, relying on them, without learning what they're like," he voiced in an echo of her previous statement.

The two shared a hollow chuckle and a faint smile as they drifted off at last to sleep.

* * *

**Undisclosed Location**

Softly, eyes were slowly opened, and like emerging from mud, the consciousness awakened from a deep and fevered sleep, with a somewhat puzzled Mana Ryougi lifting her head to find that she was sitting on a hillside under a tree, with the autumn wind blowing gently as leaves fell all around her. As she opened her eyes, she found herself looking out at the sea.

Or what looked liked the sea, but wasn't, as her senses dutifully informed her.

"There's a reason for that, you know," an oddly familiar voice murmured from behind the Satsujinki, one Mana recognized instinctively. "I was wondering when you would come, Child of the Void."

Raising an eyebrow at the title, the last Ryougi turned her head ever so slightly towards the speaker, eyebrows shooting towards the sky as she caught a glimpse of the one who had been her only companion and friend ever since she had awakened from her coma—a green-haired woman garbed in robes of royal white, looking at her with ageless amber eyes.

"C.C.," the Satsujinki said, standing as a sign of respect, taking the hand the other offered.

"Cythera," the immortal corrected with a wistful smile. "In this place, I think I can use my name freely…and I think you know where this place is…"

"A place that is no place, a time without a time, yes," Mana noted, having been in an alternate version of this limbo once with her other personality. "Why are you here?"

The Witch was silent for a period of time, though exactly how long was uncertain to the Satsujinki.

"Because I find that before I pass on, I must apologize," she said at last.

"What for?"

"For using you," the Grey Witch said bluntly, as Mana took a step back in shock. "By saving you, I cheated you out of your life and changed your fate, exposing you to a nightmare beyond anything most can imagine."

"No…that's—"

"Don't misunderstand, I do care about you as much as I am capable, but in the end, I have my own purposes, Satsujinki," so the First Magician declared imperiously. "And so I saved you for that."

Mana considered these words for a time, tilting her head as she looked out at the sea.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked levelly. "This isn't like you."

"Because you deserve to know the truth so you can hate me, and let me go instead of mourning me – just as I hate myself after all these years," C.C. responded, only for a powerful _crack_ to stagger the immortal, who was rather stunned when the Satsujinki followed the slap with a hug.

Tentatively, not used to touching or being touched in a violent manner after many years, the Grey Witch returned the embrace, not knowing why. By all rights, Mana should have turned away and left her alone, but it seemed she had miscalculated.

"I don't care, C.C.," the Ryougi replied, holding the other tight, sounding for just that instant like the innocent girl she once had been. "You saved my life, but you didn't force me into anything. Everything that followed was my choice."

"I thought about choice once, when I was young, millennia ago," the Witch-Queen sighed, shaking her head. "It's like chaos theory, really – it is easy to believe that we have choices, but given our natures and the deterministic nature of the universe…"

"…do you really believe that, you who wield the miracle of denial of nothingness?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes now – it depends on the day. You and I are much alike, Mana Ryougi," slow, measured words from the first and oldest of the Five, the ancient sorcerers who had once shaped the world at will. "Both of us know the world's uncertainty and fragility, with neither solid ground nor sky above a certainty, familiar with the illusion that all could perish in an instant. You see this because you walked with death for two years, staring into the abyss and gaining a connection with it. I, on the other hand lived for over eleven millennia. I have seen civilizations rise and fall – I have seen millions…billions pass away. I have seen knowledge discovered, forgotten and discovered once again countless times, more than the grains of sand on the beach. But that, too, is the overlooking view, and as we know, the experience called far seems much less real than that called near."

"Yes, Touko-san taught me that much," Mana sighed, releasing the Witch and stepping back.

"How kind of her, when she isn't feuding with the Fifth," C.C. murmured, golden eyes looking fondly at the girl who had been her sister/daughter of sorts for the last five years. "You have your path then, and you will follow it, no matter where it may lead?"

"I learned from a good teacher," Mana replied rather impishly, though her eyes were moist in the light. "Exactly who, I cannot say."

"Well, I suppose having at least one person forgive me is enough," the Witch-Queen whispered, turning away and taking a step toward the sea, turning back just for a moment. "Farewell…"

And with that she was gone, vanishing into golden motes of light.

* * *

**Café Ahnenerbe**

The time had come at last for Mana and Lelouch to saying their goodbyes, as each had their own mission to accomplish, their own roles to play, as it had been in the past, and it would be in the future. They were partners and accomplices, yes, but they worked best on different battlefields—their strengths geared for different specialties.

Now they stood before simple mirror portal, through which many had already gone, save apparently the Ren pair, which maintained the connection.

Mana was to join the "Demon Hunter Party", comprised of the Dust of Osiris, Shiki Nanaya, Hisui Fujou, Fujino Asagami, Azaka Kokutou, and Ren. Their task was to journey to the plains of central Asia and from there to Europe, where the Association and Directorate hid its more deadly secrets.

The Knight of Dusk had departed for parts unknown together with a woman only known as Blue, which amusingly enough to Lelouch, White Ren had tolerated being teased and treated like a child by, in her own tsundere way.

As for Lelouch…while others fought in distant lands, his role was in Area 11, to rally the people, to cause unrest, and to keep the focus of Britannia on him. He was a symbol, a rebel, a man of miracles…and so they counted on him to make a miracle happen.

"Well then, this is it, I suppose," Lelouch said, looking at Mana, at her equipment, including the Kogarasumaru, and then at the portal. "Be safe."

"I should be telling you that, Lelouch," the Satsujinki replied with a faint quirk of her lips, though her expression quickly sobered. "Just stick to our contract and try not to die, alright?"

They looked at each other for a long moment of hesitation, each wanting to say something more, but neither wanting to—

"Oh, screw it!"

White Ren, fed up with waiting for something to happen, pushed Lelouch, who stumbled forward into Mana's arms, where he was caught—just as their lips touched, with the two of them giving in at last to a desire for closeness, a tender kiss first, separating after about a minute—and then one considerably more passionate, with Mana pulling him back to her, as the more dominant one this time

This second kiss was forceful, searing, laced with all the tension between them—the fears, insecurities and all else that had appeared in their dreams – as first kisses went, it wasn't a bad experience, and one that hinted at the possibility of considerably more in the future.

"Don't you dare die on me," she whispered as they separated. And then the portal flashed, with a stunned Black Prince left behind, struck dumb for a few seconds as his brain rebooted from the sudden, unexpected bit of affection.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT KISS DOESN'T COUNT FOR THE BET BECAUSE I PUSHED THEM? YOU….YOU DAMN BLACK KITTEN!"

The tinkling of ice crystals filled the air, as Black Ren's ice clone was sundered to pieces by White Ren's _**Sword of Execution, **_the white-clad succubus rather…annoyed at her counterpart.

For once Lelouch didn't fight the urge to smirk as he turned for the door, letting a chuckle escape his lips as he strode for the exit at a brisk, determined pace.

There would be many trials to come, much to be faced at home or abroad, but he trusted that Mana and those with her would not fail.

Just he could not—and would not—fail.

For the end of the expected and the beginning of a more chaotic age was his time. A time for miracles, a time to make the impossible possible, a time…for _Zero._


	22. Interlude: Drums of War

**Eternal Geass Moon: The Garden of Sinners**

A Code Geass / Kara no Kyoukai Story

Disclaimer: In this particular universe, I do not own or in any way shape or form hold a claim to elements of the Code Geass franchise, Tsukihime, Kara no Kyoukai, any other elements of the Nasuverse, or any other modern works that I may reference in this story.

In the legends of nearly every civilization, there have been references to mysterious cultures on long vanished continents, of peoples that lived during a golden age, when the earth brought forth its bounty without the manifold labors of man, when dreams shaped reality, when all that man required could be brought forth by will alone—a time forever lost when a cataclysm born of hubris and war sank a legendary land, wiping out much of humanity in the process, with the scattered remnants forced to rebuild from what was essentially the Stone Age.

As the ages passed, the practitioners of these arcane arts faded into the shadows as technology kept on its inexorable advance, eliminating the need for mages for the most part. Still, magic and those who use it continue to exist today, and rumors linger of a strange lineage of magi isolated from the flow of time, carrying within their Codes (akin to Thaumaturgical Crests) powerful magic from a bygone age – a lineage of magi known as Witches.

" " denotes speech

'_italics'_denotes thought

'**bold'** denotes location names

_**'bold italics'**_ denotes skill use

* * *

**Sea of Estray, Undisclosed Location**

Save for the sound of quiet, rhythmic breathing, there was utter and absolute silence in the office of the Executive Director of the Sea of Estray, a great cavern of a place hewn from a perfectly smooth jet-black stone, unmarred save for where it had been engraved with the silver sigils of the Tree of Sephiroth and various runes of protection. Not that this was anything new, as Elesia Roa Ortenrosse had spent much of the last few days reclused in her office, channeling her considerable magical energies towards directing the course of the Wandering Tomb, the moving mountain range that comprised the main base of the Sea of Estray, as well as reinforcing the wards around it to prevent detection from any scrying eyes from the Clock Tower or the Geass Directorate.

Given that the Clock Tower (through the Holy Britannian Empire) had launched an all-out assault on the Middle Eastern Federation, violating the centuries old treaties of non-aggression between the Three Great Branches of the Mage's Association with the aim of crushing the Alchemists of Atlas and plundering their stores for armaments capable of nigh unimaginable devastation, it was an open secret that their next target would be the Sea of Estray, and thus Elesia worked to preempt any attempted attacks. Already her immediate subordinates were putting contingency plans into action, carrying out urgent tasks in preparation for the pending conflict, meeting with _their_ subordinates, mobilizing its agents and military strength to meet the threat directly.

Elesia herself however, was not involved in this process, as her responsibilities were to the preservation of the Sea of Estray as a whole. The Director was currently laying in the middle of a ritual circle of runes, her chest rising and falling as her senses reached out through stone and air and water, circuits connecting to the rich flows of prana that ran though the mobile mountain range until the entire base, with propulsion, defenses, and all else, joined with her mind, coming under her direct control.

'_It has been a long time since this was necessary –I almost wish it hadn't been needful this time either, since each time I have to touch the vast and alien intelligence of the base itself, part of my sense of self erodes away.'_

Indeed, while the link was ongoing, "Elesia" disappeared from existence, with the gestalt mind resulting from the connection identifying itself as "Ciel," after the potential of the vast, yet constrained sky, symbolic of how magecraft, for all boundless possibilities, would never quite match True Magic. A gestalt, for while the mountain itself was not quite sentient, within its channels of power ("circuits", if one would) lay the sum total of the knowledge of those few others who had previously borne the title of Director, making the experience rather like fusing oneself with an ancient Thaumaturgical Crest with a legacy that was thousands of years old – far older than even the oldest of Crests wrought from the soul's Magic Circuits.

And yet even that was newer than the Wandering Tomb itself, as the Sea of Estray's unusual base was an ancient installation, with a history that extended back to the Age of Gods, like the organization itself. Indeed, it was commonly believed the mighty spellcraft that rendered the moving mountain range mobile and habitable, with powerful thaumaturgical defenses to make short work of most intruders, had been a joint work of the Grey Witch, the Wizard Marshal, and the Soul-Mistress – the three Magicians known to have been alive at the time of the founding, though whether there was any truth to this, few knew.

From the hints that lingered within the ancient spellwork, "Ciel" thought it was certainly possible, since there was a palpable feeling of isolation and age within the patterns of the lingering energies, with at least one of them matching the feel of the wards around the Giant's Pit of Atlas – which was known to have been created by the First Magician.

'_Between Atlas and the Wandering Tomb, the Sorcerers had the foresight to create places where magecraft's power could be studied and preserved, no doubt after having seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations and how much knowledge vanished with each one. The original Association was meant to be an independent power that could withstand the test of time, so that they might not be the only ones who remembered what had been lost and humanity might not forget all that it had once learned. But perhaps there is another reason they went to such lengths – perhaps it was simply that not even such as they would wish to be completely alone.'_

For True Magicians lived out existences unlike any others in the world of humans, changed by having touched Akasha in their time so that their destinies belonged to a different providence, a different time. They wielded great power, each being wielding a miracle, but that power also brought them isolation, a profound solitude since they had no real peers save for each other in their eternal deathlessness.

Such was a fate Elesia understood this all too well, given that she too had become immortal after taking up the sword True Demon Neardark, accepting the rank of Executive Director of the Sea of Estray, with her body's physical condition more or less frozen in that moment by a curse of restoration that would repair any damage done to her body by winding time backwards, as if it had never happened. She would not age, nor take wounds, so long as she carried the blade—unless of course, she was struck by a few conceptual weapons which had the power to bring death to the undying.

'_Weapons such as the Seventh Holy Scripture, the Black Barrel, or Harpe, among others…'_

Each of the Directors of the Three Great Branches was in possession of at least one weapon of this sort, in case hostilities ever ensued and it proved necessary to slay one of their counterparts, as all of them were more "long lived" than common magi by one means or another.

'_At least so it was in the original Mage's Association, comprised of just the Sea of Estray and Atlas. In comparison, those of the Clock Tower are mere upstarts, with originating from those that had exiled from Estray due to their…questionable practices.'_

Where the Sea of Estray was a society of peers, dedicated to the preservation of knowledge, those of the Clock Tower sought only power, uncaring of what means it took to acquire it, much like the nation in which they were based – the Holy Britannian Empire. In the Tower, as in the Empire, the aristocratic elite held much influence, with those of foreign blood and their unique forms of thaumaturgy looked down on, and the only strictures that mattered were those of secrecy.

'_The Clock Tower's practices shame those of us who were of the original Association, but then, there _were_ reasons that they were exiled—and now break from us in open war. I somehow doubt they just left because __they were not fond of the name "Wandering Tomb", even if it is a bit odd._'

For now, the gestalt mind of "Ciel" simply bade the floating isle to shift course into the Mediterranean, where it would rendezvous with some students of Atlas that the Dust of Osiris had managed to evacuate from their auxiliary facility before it had been destroyed by wide-scale aerial bombardment. With any luck, Fabro Rowan would be able to provide more information on the goings on in the Middle Eastern Federation…and Illyasviel von Einzbern would soon make contact with the Water Demon, the vampire who lived underwater, having conquered the traditional vampiric weakness of being unable to cross bodies of water without a vessel.

* * *

**Atlantic Ocean**

In comparison to that currently being used by the Executive Director of the Sea of Estray, the young Einzbern's mode of transportation was considerably more humble, but then, most things were, compared to a floating island wrought by fierce and forgotten magics lost to the mists of time. Still, considerably more humble was a far cry from marked by poverty, and for her purposes, using a more mundane form of conveyance was preferred.

Thus, the red-eyed young woman, with white hair plaited in a French braid, dressed in a coat and slacks adorned with an intricate black and silver design and a red longcoat draped over the ensemble, found herself at the helm of a yacht on the open ocean at night, the endless blue vista of water spreading out all around her, the wind at her back, the salt-spray of the sea in her face as she headed towards the Sargasso Sea, where one of the few known access-points to Sumire's domain existed.

'_Here there be dragons,'_ she whimsically recalled from an map in her library. _'Or perhaps simply ghost ships, like the others that Sumire is said to have caused to disappear over the centuries.'_

After her meeting with the Executive Director, the homunculus had flown to Monte Carlo, where she had made arrangements for the requisite goods she would need when bargaining with Sumire to be brought aboard the yacht _Hy Brasil, _which she owned as "Iris, the Lady Archer", one of her more whimsical cover identities. It did help from time to time to have such a vessel available for one reason or another, and if nothing else, renting it out for an extra trickle of discretionary funds never hurt.

Sailing, after all, was a common enough hobby among the more wealthy individuals of Europe, and given that the open ocean was generally considered neutral territory, Illya rather thought that her yacht would be overlooked by any intelligence reports, since at the helm of her ship, the elegant young woman would simply be one more person enjoying an outing at sea, hardly anything worth noticing from a military standpoint.

'_And to prevent detection from enemy mages, Seven is aiding me...'_

Such was a very real consideration, given that as a homunculus based on the genetic material of the late Sorceress Lizleihi, the one thing that Illyasviel von Einzbern had in spades was mana, seeing as she was a being wrought of magecraft and required it to survive. In a sense, her body as a whole was simply a living circuit, capable of channeling as much power as the Director herself – though the downside to this was that without precautions, she shone like a beacon to certain senses. Hence, her garments (up to and including her famous red longcoat) were woven of holy cloth with defensive attributes, protecting against the outer world and those within it. It did not grant magic resistance, but merely cloaked her from detection—something that was quite needful, given that her existence was a closely guarded secret of the Sea of Estray.

On this particular mission, however, something…more…was necessary, so Seven, the several hundred year old familiar of Elesia, created from a unicorn horn and the soul of a young woman, had come along in the form of a cloak.

Her purpose for coming was twofold: on one hand, as a familiar, Seven was ideal for watching for and suppressing any spiritual interference, but then, Seven was also the spirit of the Seventh Holy Scripture, a powerful Conceptual Weapon known to be wielded by Elesia herself—one very effective against Dead Apostles, such as the one they had been sent to treat with.

'_Sumire is fickle and enigmatic at the best of times from what fragmented memories of her I have, and when bargaining with someone powerful as she – the only being alive capable of wielding Marble Phantasm, a power that could alter probability to make any possible event occur—it is good to have a bit of leverage.'_

If nothing else, Seven's presence served as a symbol of Elesia Roa Ortenrosse's trust and authority, as it was one of the two weapons the Executive Director had carried for a long time. Exactly how long no one knew, since her blade granted her immortality, but it had been long enough that the title "Serpent of Akasha" had become synonymous with death to those who had the misfortune to face her in battle.

Still, one couldn't browbeat a Dead Apostle Ancestor into submitting to one's will, which was why _Hy Brasil's_ cargo hold was filled with casks of fine wines, _hors d'age _brandy (distilled wines too old to determine age, but of great quality), an assortment of vodkas, and spiced dark rums, in addition to a bottle of mead (produced in the ancient fashion, with fresh rainwater mixed with the proportion of a half-liter of water to a pound of honey, further distilled into a "honeyjack"), as mead was the ancient drink by which contracts had been sealed during the Age of Gods, from which Sumire originated.

Alcoholic beverages were the only trade goods that the Water Demon cared about, after all, as the Dead Apostle Ancestor had no use for money, jewelry, or any of the other trappings of power. Money was immaterial to Sumire, given that there was nothing to spend it on in her domain; precious metals and gemstones were something she had aplenty from shipwrecks or from any sojourns she _did_ make onto land; and while she might have been interested in acquiring Noble Phantasms or Conceptual Weapons, trade in those was…impractical for several reasons.

For one thing, it was generally rather impolitic to bring powerful weapons (beyond those needed for personal protection) into the realm of a party one was treating with as an equal. The Sea of Estray was merely bargaining for a favor, after all, and so did not want to give Sumire any further advantage beyond the impressive arsenal of abilities those she already had, given that she commanded the seas. And then, there were security reasons, since such implements were not only greatly valuable, but tended to attract a great deal of attention from elements of the supernatural, unless warded in many bounded fields or shrouded in protective holy cloths. And since they wanted to keep the details of this mission _sub rosa, _withoutdrawing scrutiny from any of their counterparts…

'…_thinking about it, it is much safer to stick to alcohol, the cause of and cure for, so many of the world's problems. Even if Sumire will probably make me drink a round or two.'_

The silver-haired homunculus' lips curled up ever so slightly at the thought, as she did enjoy eating and drinking from time to time, even if such sustenance wasn't strictly necessary for her survival.

And then the smile faded as the winds picked up considerably, waves picking up, with dark clouds swiftly moving over the horizon as if to veil the area from sight. At this time of year, storms and squalls could arise quickly, Illya knew, but…

'_There's something odd about this…all the same, I should reef and furl the sails.'_

As she went about her appointed tasks however, a certain sense of malaise seemed to hang in the air, and though there wasn't anything in particular she could point to as justification for this gut feeling, but as a being wrought of magecraft, the Einzbern was far more attuned to imbalances in the environment around her than most.

"Seven…do you sense something?" she murmured quietly as she finished, returning to the control booth, her eyes reinforcing themselves as she peered into the distance. So far, there was no hostile intent, nor any sign of magecraft used, but mages were not the only beings who would affect the world around them.

The familiar was silent for a long minute or two as its presence flittered about, before the voice of the horse-girl seemed to speak into Illya's mind, a mental tug directing her to look towards a certain area.

"_Uh…sail ho?" _

Lightning flashed between the dark clouds in the distance, and thunder rumbled, a deep, ominous sound like the hoofbeats of a phantasmal group of horsemen in mad pursuit of intended prey. And running before the wind, as if fleeing the Wild Hunt, the shadow of a great ship was illuminated by arcs of electricity running from cloud to cloud.

An old bark carrying a press of sail on its three masts, with topgallants and mainsails tattered by age fluttering in the gale, three staggered lines of cannon run out on each side as if expecting an engagement, bearing down on Illya's smaller vessel with all due speed.

'_An aged man o'war running a storm?'_

From her reading, Illyasviel von Einzbern knew of ancient tales and legends, but in particular, her old fascination with spirits and souls pointed to one story that fit these particular characteristics all too well. The legend of a Dutch warship that had foundered in a storm while trying to round the Cape of Good Hope, but whose crew had been denied a true death, who wandered the ocean to this day as a ghost ship, a specter that heralded the appearance of fierce storms in which lay one's doom.

'_The Flying Dutchman…'_

But there was no time to react to this identification, much less even to the presence of the other, for at that very moment, the yacht quivered and shook under Illya's feet as it heeled hard to port, a terrible roar like the world itself being torn asunder bellowing from the watery depths as the bottom seemed to fall out of the ocean.

'_Maelstrom…'_

Violently, the yacht surged forward and down as if seized by a mighty hand, spiraling down a newly birthed maelstrom that like spawned by the legendary monster Charybdis. Out the window, Illya could just catch sight of the _Flying Dutchman _and a ghost fleet that trailed after it, moving to take up position around the edges of the massive vortex, preventing any escape—even if one had been possible in the first place.

'_So…this is Sumire's power…'_

That was Illya's last thought, before with a thunderous crash, everything went black.

* * *

**Palace of the Dead Apostle Ancestor Sumire, Precise Location Unknown**

In the shadowy depths of the ocean, amidst the ruins of ancient lands and shipwrecks that spanned the whole of time, symbols of how all was once of the sea, and to the sea all would return in time, there existed a vast realm isolated from the flow of time, a kingdom where strange and eldritch beings lived besides those who were once human, ruled by the Dead Apostle Ancestor called the Water Demon. None had been able to find it without the permission of its ruler, as it, like she, was enshrouded by a darkness and shadows, by a longing for rationally and fear towards the taboo—an invisible protection that fooled even nature, close in form to the alternate world in which the fey dwelled.

Not much was known of her, even by the denizens of this realm, save that she was an immortal monster whose layer upon layer of diabolical magic made her one of the most powerful beings in the world, a being as deadly and mysterious as she was beautiful, akin to the ocean itself, to which she had become linked.

The center of this underwater kingdom was an ancient castle where Sumire greeted guests when not wandering the seas or up on land, a structure wrought from the ocean floor by the power of Marble Phantasm, with curves and spires simultaneously delicate as the folds of a jellyfish, yet harsh and unyielding as the basalt of the sea's bottom, lit from within by a strange luminescence.

Some of the realm's denizens were curious, for outside the palace, within a grotto used for storage of some of the older watercraft, a modern yacht was moored, with the entrance warded by a great curtain of air denoting the outer edge of the bubble that had brought the vessel down to sea floor, escorted by the ships of the _Dutchman's _ghost fleet.

The two who had been aboard that yachtnow stood in the presence chamber of Sumire's palace, studying it as they waited for the Dead Apostle Ancestor to appear, as it seemed they were expected by the one who ruled. Still, while she was waiting, Illya saw nothing wrong with taking a brief glance about the room in which she found herself, noting the presence of great blood-red crystals growing from within the walls, resonating with the currents of air about the place to render haunting echoes and mournful strains whispering of mysteries long ago lost from mortal memory.

'_Like an elfin grotto…Sumire really has moved far beyond humanity…'_

The crystals were rhodochrosite, a manganese carbonate whose name was derived from the Greek word ῥοδόχρως, as in its most pure form, it was the blood-red of the finest crimson roses. Some civilizations had even once believed it to be the blood of former rulers, crystallized into a form that would transcend time – and as such it was the perfect stone to grace the chambers of a Dead Apostle Ancestor.

…as well as to denote one which ruled an undersea realm, as manganese was commonly found in nodules scattered across the ocean floor, with minerals depositing over time on discarded shark teeth, plankton, or even a grain of sand.

"So, you have arrived, Emissary of the Serpent, for you could be hardly anything else with her familiar by your side," a voice spoke from behind the homunculus, with Illyasviel von Einzbern turning slowly and deliberately to meet the speaker without any visible hint of unease, catching her first sight of the one named Sumire, who was not at all drunk.

'_She certainly meets the meaning of her name…'_

The speaker was a rather statuesque woman about 180cm tall, with elegant, aristocratic features, and whose figure was shrouded in a stately black dress with hints of blue-green iridescence, shimmering like frozen water or perhaps some form of seaweed. Her eyes were a deep, vivid crimson even in the dim light of the surroundings, and her face was framed by long tresses of wavy waist-length hair that started as a blue-green at its roots but faded to black as it grew longer, much like the sea itself. And upon her head, as if to signify her rank, was a delicately wrought presence circlet of rhodium inset with several blood red gems, mirroring the color of her eyes.

"Indeed I have, Lady Sumire," Illya replied, curtseying to the new arrival in the deferential way in which she had been taught. "I assume you were responsible for the…interesting manner in which we arrived? It certainly made an impression."

A throaty chuckle.

"And kept your arrival from prying eyes, of course," the Water Demon added, studying the one who had stepped into her realm, raising an eyebrow as she found something odd and interesting. "An interesting choice of emissary for the Serpent, and a canny one, as she knows I once knew Lizleihi quite well."

"Did you expect otherwise from the Director?" Illya returned, meeting the other's eyes.

"From the Serpent? Hardly, when she has done you the favor of loaning you her familiar, child, stocking your ship with a cargo she knows well I have a weakness for," the Dead Apostle Ancestor intoned, circling the younger woman, though her eyes narrowed as her senses detected something…or rather, a lack of something. "Your nature is concealed, and not simply by the Seventh Holy Scripture."

"Not dissimilarly from you, Water Demon," the homunculus shot back, earning a hint of a smile of acknowledgement. "But while I conceal only my nature, you have concealed an entire realm in shadow and mystery, as few others have managed since the Age of Gods. But then, you do wield the power of Marble Phantasm, something beyond the ken of most, mortal or immortal."

"Hmph…there is that," Sumire allowed, allowing herself to smirk for a moment before the expression faded. "Well, now that we have told each other what powerful people we are and who we represent, perhaps we may dispense with the flattery and pleasantry, and you might tell me for what purpose you have come into my realm, as I doubt this is a purely social visit. I take it the Director wishes a favor of me…and one to do with my unique ability?"

At odds to the rumors of her usual demeanor, Sumire showed no trace of drunkenness or eccentricity, exuding only the air of age and authority that she showed to very few outsiders. Most of the time, when she interacted with others, the Dead Apostle Ancestor gave the impression of being inept or inebriated, but that was all it was, an impression, so that those who sought to use her might underestimate her, whether in negotiations or in war. Though she truly did love wine and other alcoholic beverages, she was never quite as drunk as she let on – and on the rare occasions when she did actually become inebriated, she could drink anyone under the table anyway.

To show her serious nature to anyone, much less someone not of her realm, was an honor and a gesture of respect, one which Illya acknowledged and understood full well.

"Very well then…let us talk."

* * *

**California Base, West Coast, Holy Britannian Empire**

Half a world away, in the shadows between two of the main hangers of California Base, Britannia's main port and military training facility on the Pacific Coast, the darkness shifted ever so slightly as two figures took form on a moonless, windless night: a flame-haired woman in a red overcoat over black shirt and white skirt, and an enigmatic form clad in strange charcoal grey and crimson combat armor, resembling nothing so much as a medieval knight.

They had arrived under cover of darkness because some things simply were best done in the middle of the night, not only for the sake of secrecy but because darkness lent no false auras or pretensions to things done under its aegis, much unlike the light, which nigh invariably heralded treachery and mistakes wrought by over-hasty assumptions. It was light that painted things one way or another, after all, as all were equal in the night.

The briefcase-carrying woman was none other than Aoko Aozaki, the Magic Gunner herself, Attainer of the Fifth Law, said to be unparalleled when it came to destruction by virtue of her command over Preservation and Entropy. It was a trivial thing for her to convert matter into energy by affecting the laws of entropy, causing matter to break down into its constituent components…energy which she then expertly manipulated to perform her dreaded attacks, usually by the simple expedient of superheating the air into plasma and loosing it on an enemy in the form of Starbow and Starmine. Simple, but effective, as most things tended to be at the very least damaged after a run-in with what was in essence a contained lightning bolt, blue fire blazing like the surface of a star.

Of course, if the situation demanded it, there were other more dangerous applications of her abilities that she could use, making her nearly unmatched in terms of absolute destruction. Applications like "Retroflow – Genesis Light", that allowed her to surround an entire area with a stasis field and modify the entropic properties in it all at once, reducing all of it to nothingness—keeping the blast from exiting the area except for when she chose to allow it to do so.

It was, quite frankly, the most terrifying ability in her arsenal, which none caught within could resist or escape.

'_Well…maybe not quite none, since the Old Fart could probably slip its bounds and beat me,'_ she grudgingly conceded, glancing over at the ominous figure standing beside her, clad in somewhat odd, but functional armor. _'And his Knight isn't exactly a pushover either…_'

"Is the Old Man sure about this?" Aoko inquired, unable to keep a hint of curiosity from her voice, eyes narrowing as she looked upon the enigmatic figure of the Dusk Knight. "Not that I can't do it, but aren't there issues with the need for secrecy?"

The Dusk Knight, cloaked in a robe of jet black over metallic charcoal grey armor accented with crimson flames, replied, with Aoko noting not for the first time that the other's voice was a smooth, slightly accented, soprano that seemed European in origin.

"Your ability, unlike most others, is unique in that you simply destabilize the inherent structure of things to gain energy, leaving no trace of your personal mana signature," the shadowy Knight answered, the blank faceplate betraying nothing. "That aside, the California base is quiet at this time of night, and Britannia would never expect an enemy to attack it on its home soil."

"…you know my abilities well," Aoko conceded, wondering exactly what role Zelretch's "second" played in the Wizard Marshal's organization. The familiars known as Ren and White Ren (who Aoko tended to leave with the Old Man) ran Café Ahnenerbe and the other more widely known operations Zelretch maintained, acting as his messenger and his right hand in public matters. Ren was well known as one of his associates – perhaps one of the oldest and most trusted—and generally as a compassionate soul that helped who needed it most, soothing the wounds of the body and soul.

Which only made Zelretch's "left hand" and second, the Dusk Knight, even more disconcerting to those who knew of her existence—and what exactly she was—not that that numbered many at all, since few who had discovered her true nature in this world yet lived. Grim, professional, undoubtedly dangerous, she acted as expected of anyone chosen as Zelretch's second – and while it was true that he did have a weakness for beautiful women (as had been proven during the Nimue incident, centuries ago), the ones he gathered as subordinates invariably tended to be obscenely powerful.

'_I suppose that I would count, given that the Old Fart did teach me at one point, and I do owe him a thing or two…'_

Still, the nature of the Dusk Knight made even Aoko pause, since the very few times the Fifth Magician had seen her outside the battlesuit she invariably wore in battle (an armored exoskeleton that was far more agile and powerful than it looked), the Knight had been revealed as a slim, copper-haired young woman with piercing blue eyes that had seen too much for a thousand lifetimes, who carried herself with a solemn grace that few could match. An appearance much at odds with the offhand comments she made about defying gods, fallen angels and worlds, with the morbid sense of humor of one that had fought battles without end, fully expecting to die in the process.

The Magic Gunner had seen such personalities before, but usually in soldiers, and never from anyone that young. Then again, given what the Dusk Knight was, and the function she served (acting as the hidden blade in the Wizard Marshal's left hand, striking down his foes or acting when secrecy was necessary), Aoko rather thought that she might be older than she appeared.

'_Which would make sense, given her role…though then again, possibly not as well…'_

With her jet black blade, the Knight specialized in infiltration and assassination, but could sometimes serve as a bodyguard if necessary (not that Zelretch had any real need of one), and though she was usually armed with a greatsword, she had demonstrated herself to be capable of wielding a variety of weapons.

"You remember the plan, correct?" the Second's servitor asked seriously, her form fading completely from sight as the battlesuit's advanced thermoptic camouflage activated, the better to infiltrate the enemy base.

"Of course. You will eliminate those at the central command post and cut off communications so that no one will be able to respond, while I set up the field for _Retroflow – Genesis Light, _correct?" the Magic Gunenr replied, all traces of levity fading from her expression.

"Correct. Then I will rendezvous with you at the extraction point in 30 minutes. The mission is a go."

* * *

**Vermillion Forbidden City in Luoyang, Chinese Federation**

In the underground complex beneath the Vermillion Forbidden City, General Cao, commandant of the Militarized Zone of Liaodong, and the High Eunuchs had gathered for a teleconference with Commander Li Xingke, who had been dispatched to the Militarized Zone of India, discussing the recent developments in Area 11 as well as the continuing Britannian presence in the Middle Eastern Federation, now designated Area 18.

"Li Xingke," intoned one of the numerous Eunuchs, "what is the state of readiness of the Middle East Intervention Task Force?"

"Our men are mobilizing as we speak and resources being gathered, but it will still be some time before we are ready to deploy, especially our more…specialized assets," Li Xingke replied, using a euphemism for what few combat-trained magi the Chinese Federation had at their disposal.

He himself was the best combatant in that sphere they had available, as well should be, for in between planning coups and reviewing military matters, Li Xingke trained himself relentlessly, as befitted a weapon of the Chinese Federation who had been entrusted with the Sword of Goujian, an ancient Mystic Code known as the "Sword of Unyielding Resistance." Aside from serving as an excellent focus for magecraft, said weapon boosted the user's magical resistance and endurance when equipped…and if one was given a life-threatening injury, the enchantments in the blade would provide the wielder with a boost to all parameters.

"And our more…conventional assets?" another Eunuch inquired, looking sharply at the commander. While he was a competent commander, there was more than one reason they had sent him to confront the Britannian forces in the Middle East, after all, since he was also someone they didn't quite trust.

"Better," Li Xingke admitted. "Fortunately, the Maharajah is being most…cooperative in meeting our requests."

That this was because an extra division of Chinese Federation soldiers was in the area was left unsaid, as such was unnecessary to say. It was quite well known that the Maharajah chafed under the rule of the Chinese Federation, though he did nothing to overtly demonstrate this…and would do nothing so long a preponderance of occupying forces was maintained, a practice that the Eunuchs fully intended to maintain, given how valuable the Militarized Zone of India was in supplying the Federation's military and industrial needs.

"Very well, that is as much we can expect in under a week's time," noted Cai Lishi, the _de facto_ head of the High Eunuchs. "Onto other matters, you have heard the news from Area 11?"

"That Zero has assassinated the Britannian Governor General?" the task force commander answered, to confirm what his sources had told him.

"Just so, though that is not all," another Eunuch confirmed, his nasal voice echoing strangely through the meeting room. "Our agents in Area 11 have also procured information that the reprisals ordered by Luciano Bradley did not go as planned, with the Britannian ground troops in at least one ghetto massacred by Zero's, with the Governor General forced to resort to aerial bombardment. However, during this time, the Mobile Command Center used by Bradley, his command staff, and his aides, was destroyed."

"Our informants have heard the name 'Zero' thrown about in cold whispers, with wild rumors of the demon striking once again, unable to abide the 'Vampire' in his territory," yet another spoke, shaking his head at the terms used. "Further, with the destruction of the Lake Kawaguchi facility where many civil and industrial leaders were meeting to divide the yearly supply of Sakuradite…"

"…both the civil and military leadership of Area 11 are fragmented," Cai Lishi concluded, a thin, icy smile crossing his lips. "As the chain of succession is still uncertain and no interim viceroy has been appointed, it strikes me that this is the perfect opportunity to…'liberate' Area 11 from its oppressors, wouldn't you say, General Cao?"

"In hindsight, putting our forces on alert was a very wise idea, especially as an opportunity has come far sooner than anticipated," General Cao replied succinctly. "With your permission, I will begin making preparations for the attack, as our forces in Liaodong are nearly ready to act, and the Britannians are in no position to resist."

"Very well then," Cai Lishi acknowledged. "Then we will contact Chief Cabinet Secretary Sawasaki Atsushi. I trust he will be…rather pleased."

"And my orders, lords?" asked Li Xingke.

"Continue making preparations, and when you are ready, move on the Middle Eastern Federation. The Britannian forces are already weakened by a protracted campaign, while ours are fresh. Surely, we have the advantage of numbers."

"Yes," Xingke acknowledged, maintaining his impassivity. "I hear and obey for the good of the Chinese Federation."

* * *

**Café Ahnenerbe**

Once again in the shadows, reality _flickered _for a moment in the back area of the café, as the forms of Aoko Aozaki and the Dusk Knight appeared before the Second Magician, who had been awaiting their arrival following the completion of their assigned task.

"And may I ask what happened to you?" he asked, looking over both Aoko, who seemed completely unruffled, and his second, whose armor seemed slightly…scorched.

"A Britannian scheißkopf detonated a stack of energy fillers, hoping to immolate me in the blast," the Dusk Knight replied gravely, removing her helm to reveal a mane of long, coppery hair, which she shook out, letting the strands fly free. Aoko started momentarily, seeing that the armored one was younger than she had thought, appearing about Mana's age, with sharp but attractive features, though what stood out most was the icy blue gaze of one that had seen too much, to who death was just another thing to deal with and deal out. "Unfortunately, as he was on an airship at the time, this detonated the aerial cruiser's Sakuradite reactor."

"No armor damage, I presume?"

"The only humans who have ever damaged my battlesuit are the Chosen Knight of the First Magician…and the Dust of Osiris," the Knight of Dusk replied succinctly, though there was an undertone of hostility in her voice when she spoke of the latter, as if the alchemist had wronged her once. "It can withstand something as simple as a sakuradite detonation."

"With your pride and sense of importance so well intact, I take it the mission was a success?" the Wizard Marshal inquired of his Knight.

"Just so," the Dusk Knight confirmed in a chillingly satisfied voice, a thin, shadowed smile playing across her lips as she recalled the sphere of light that had lit up the night as if day had dawned anew, the size of the blast resulting in a mighty mushroom cloud blossoming in the sky. "The strike was carried out successfully, completely eliminating California Base and crippling Britannia's ability for rapid deployment of forces to Area 11."

"Well done, to both of you then, especially you, Magic Gunner, without whom none of this would be possible," Zelretch intoned, inclining his head slightly. "Dusk, continue as planned and watch for the activities of V.V.'s agent in Area 11. Aoko…what you do is up to you."

"As it always is," Aoko quipped sardonically. "Just remember, we're even now, Old Man."

"The two of you are the only ones who dare treat me with such irreverence," Zelretch mused aloud, smiling slightly as he said this. "Good. I find it refreshing. Very well then, you have your instructions."

With that, he disappeared, leaving the two women alone in the café.

"Well then, shall I buy you a drink to celebrate?" the Dusk Knight asked of the Fifth Magician.

"Only if you tell me your name…whichever one you're going by these days," the older redhead said, admittedly curious about the other.

"Ah, but what would be the fun in telling?" the copper-haired young woman inquired with a slight smirk. "I will tell you this much: I was named for a ship…"

"What, '_Shinonome_' or something?"

"…close enough, it's in the same class,"

"_Shirayuki_?"

"Not quite…so, that drink?" the Knight asked, changing the topic, as she obviously did not want to talk about her past, or even her true name.

"Might as well," Aoko allowed, shrugging. "Come on, I know a place."


End file.
